


No Strings Attached

by Rising_Phoenix



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Music, Angry Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Murder, Bisexual Hannibal Lecter, Bottom Will Graham, Cellist Will, Conductor Hannibal, Enemies to Lovers, Fatal Attraction, Gay Sex, Gay Will Graham, Hannibal is Not a Cannibal, Hate Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Not Beta Read, On Hiatus, Secrets, Single Dad Hannibal, Strangers to Lovers, Top Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham & Beverly Katz Friendship, but he's still an asshole
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:54:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23139595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rising_Phoenix/pseuds/Rising_Phoenix
Summary: When famous conductor Hannibal Lecter meets the young man at a gala and has a one night stand with the stranger he is immediately attracted to, he does not expect to wake up while being strangulated by his hook up, an attack that ends in aggressive sex and Hannibal letting the stranger to his own surprise go.Little does he know that he will meet him again a few weeks later, when he takes over the lead of the Baltimore Philharmonic Orchestra and there meets the cellist Will Graham, the man who tried to kill him...
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 179
Kudos: 231





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TuridTorkilsdottir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuridTorkilsdottir/gifts), [Otter_reader](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otter_reader/gifts), [CassieRaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassieRaven/gifts), [RoswellSmokingWoman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoswellSmokingWoman/gifts), [MaddieContrary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaddieContrary/gifts), [Avalongates](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avalongates/gifts), [Radiumkind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radiumkind/gifts).



> This is for my cheerleaders on Twitter and on here.
> 
> The unexpected support and encouragement you show me, the friendship I've found with some of you, and the love you give my stories is the light in the darkness I thought I will never be able to break through. You bring a smile to this old, weary face.
> 
> Thank you for being there, thank you for being you. I'm looking forward to all the mischief we'll be getting into togther.
> 
> This is for you (and anyone else who is interested). 💚

_**New York City** _

It was one of the most boring soirees Hannibal had ever been invited to.

It was not that the champagne that was served was one of the finest beverages that he had ever had the pleasure to taste, or that the perfectly decorated dishes were of an exquisite quality, or that the venue was elegant and furnished with the finest china and glassware. It was that the company at his table was lacking any sophistication, finesse, and subtlety.

The couple seated opposite him was of the nouveau-riche kind. A bottle blonde with so much infused botox that Hannibal was worried that her skin would crack every time she tried to move her face into any kind of mimic and her husband with a too dark tan to be the product of natural sunlight, and a voice so loud it filled the room as much as that of the opera singer who had performed previous to the dinner for their entertainment, a performance that this couple would most probably not be able to appreciate.

To Hannibal’s left some evil entity responsible for fate had placed Mrs. Komeda, who was as inquisitive and nosy as she had always been, asking about his private life which nothing was to share about that would have not reached her always open ears before, and eyeing him with an expression that left no doubt that the gaunt woman was the hunter and he was the prey.

“…and then Eleanor Weston, you know Eleanor, Hannibal? Well, Eleanor did actually have an affair with a jockey. Do you know how small those guys are? He must have had very distinctive qualities to have lured a woman like her away from her husband,” she giggled, while Hannibal nodded politely and took a sip of the wine that had been served with the fish he had just finished, a little too dry for his taste and not at all harmonized with the course. It took all his strength to not get up and just leave the table and instead pretend that he was interested in anything the writer had told him for the past hour. “Imagine, sharing the bed with a man that size,” she laughed. “Oh my God, I might use that for my next novel. What a wonderful picture that would make, wouldn’t it, Hannibal?”

Again, he politely nodded while putting his glass down.

With a kind smile, he got up and bowed down to the woman who now looked at him in wonder.

“If you excuse me,” he said. “I have to make an important call, but I shall return in a few minutes.”

Mrs. Komeda nodded and continued to smile, while Hannibal smoothed down his jacket and then went to move to the other side of the room where he hoped for a moment of silence. He pulled his phone out and found a few missed messages from Abigail, who let him know that she missed him and that the field trip she took with her school was going well, and another message from his assistant secretary and self-proclaimed friend Franklyn letting him know that the meeting with the symphonic orchestra director in London had been confirmed.

Sighing, he put his phone away and took another champagne flute that was offered from a tray that a waiter carried around the room.

Instead of returning to his seat, he looked around the room, observing the many strange faces and trying to shut out the chatter of many voices that combined themselves into a dizzying cacophony. He hated not so much large assemblies of people, or the society events that he had to take part in now and then, it was more the lack of manners, lack of sophistication and lack of modesty he met at events like these. People who were not important at all took themselves too important, people who should better never open their mouths, took the opportunity to tell their unwanted opinions.

“It’s a quite nice evening,” a voice next to him suddenly said and dragged him from his thoughts.

Looking into the direction that the melodic voice that had cut into the faceless chatter had come from, Hannibal saw a young man he had not noticed before. Smaller than him, wearing a nice fitted tuxedo not unlike his own, dark, curly hair unruly and not to be tamed. Strangely colored eyes somewhere between blue and green looked at him from a pale face that he would have almost called pretty did it not belong to a man, but definitely beautiful in its own way with eyes that were slightly different in size and position and an almost stubborn looking set of his jaw.

“I beg your pardon?” Hannibal said.

The stranger smiled and lowered his long lashes in a demure manner that was enchanting and at the same time fascinating.

“I said, it’s a quite nice evening,” he repeated, a slight southern drawl in his voice.

Hannibal took another draw of his champagne, his eyes still on the young stranger.

“If you think so,” he said, smiling into his glass.

Again, the younger man smiled, one hand in the pocket of his jacket and the head tilted up slightly, showing Hannibal a slender, white and very palatable neck, that made Hannibal lick his lips.

He just wanted to say something, when a hand touched his arm and when he turned, he looked at Mrs. Komeda. Annoyance rose in him with the bitter taste of bile, when he turned towards the woman who had just interrupted him in his evolution from her prey to the hunter of a young stranger.

“You leave us waiting much too long, Hannibal,” she smiled and pulled slightly at his arm, her thin and bony shoulders on display in her strapless dress. “There is so much more I need to tell you. It’s been much too long since we had the opportunity to chat.”

Hannibal stared a hole into her for a moment, contemplating if he should just cut her throat with a shard of glass or should just out her as the annoying and brash person that she was.

Instead he smiled.

“I was just talking to my friend,” he said, turning to his other side, and finding the space there empty to his surprise, the young man vanished as if he had never been there and for a moment Hannibal thought that he had fallen victim to a fata morgana or an illusion, a ghost maybe, but then he saw a head of dark curls vanish in the crowd a few steps away, becoming on with the other strangers and escaping his proximity.

Mrs. Komeda’s eyes followed in the direction he was looking.

“Who was that?” She asked, curious as ever.

“A…friend,” Hannibal said, still looking at the spot where he had last seen the other man, and then turned towards Mrs. Komeda with a smile. “Who’s hungry?”

Hannibal had returned to their table in the woman’s company and had finished the dinner at her side, but excused himself afterwards once again, still the taste of the chocolate heavy dessert on his lips. Again the room felt suffocating, and he had already texted Franklyn a threat that if he should ever make arrangements for him to attend an event like this, he would have him flayed and gutted. A message to which Franklyn replied with a collection of emojis Hannibal was not sure what their meaning was. He sent a good night message to Abigail and then made his way to the terrace to get a little fresh air, planning to retreat back to his hotel room in a few minutes.

He was surprised to find the young man standing there, leaned over the balustrade of the terrace, overlooking the city, the face bathed in moonlight and the distant lights of the city below them. He seemed to be deep in thought, hands folded and again the jaw set in that stubborn looking pose that made him probably look much younger than he indeed was.

“It is a nice evening,” Hannibal said, approaching him and coming to a stop next to him, looking not at the other man but looking over the city lights as well.

The other was startled, almost jumping and turned to look at Hannibal, blinking in surprise and the smile that Hannibal had hoped to see again on his face stayed away. He looked shocked, insecure and a little breathless.

“It…it is,” he said, almost a whisper, and then the hint of a smile appeared on his boyish features. “Did your…friend let you out of her sight long enough to escape?”

Hannibal smiled, amused by how observant the other seemed to be.

“I would not call Mrs. Komeda a friend,” he said. “An acquaintance maybe. And yes, I was able to escape her claws unscratched.”

The other chuckled and looked back over the city.

Moments of silence hang between them, before the other man straightened his back and turned towards Hannibal.

Their eyes met and Hannibal felt a strange, almost forgotten thing in his stomach. A flutter. A feeling of need, of desire. Something he had not allowed himself to feel in a long time. Of course he had desired, of course he had given in to seduction, but this…this was different. This was something that he…

Before he understood what he was doing, he had leaned down and pressed his lips gently to those of the stranger, who blinked a few times and made a step back, out of Hannibal’s reach, again one hand in his jacket. The eyes, looking deep green in this light, staring at Hannibal in surprise. He licked his lips, chasing the feeling of Hannibal’s lips on his, and then he made a step forward, back closer to the older man and tilted his head up

Hannibal’s lips ghosted of his, not really touching but leaving a tingling feeling on his own, warm breath on his skin and then he felt the tip of a tongue on the seam of his lips that he willingly opened and allowed entrance to intimacy and an unsated hunger that craved to be nourished and fulfilled. The promise of something else. Of something more.

The door to the hotel room crashed loudly shut when Hannibal kicked it shut, his lips still attached to those of the other man, who had his hands buried in the lapels of the smoking jacket that Hannibal was still wearing while tearing and pulling at his own clothing. Not giving any resistance he shrugged out of his own jacket and allowed the taller and stronger man to rip open his starched dress shirt after having pulled open the knot of the bow tie. He moaned into Hannibal’s mouth but then was surprised when Hannibal pushed him away, putting distance between them.

He watched the handsome older man sit down at the edge of the wide bed, where he crossed his legs almost casually and not as if they just had kissed like horny teenagers. Raising a brow, he looked at him, who returned his look with the hint of a smile, some sort of dominance and control in his eyes.

“Undress,” he said, and for a moment he wanted to object, make a remark but then he knew what he wanted and did exactly what he was asked for.

Slowly, he pulled the opened shirt over his shoulders and let it fall to the ground, slipping out of his polished shoes and his trembling hands opened the buckle of his belt. He felt his breath stutter when he pushed the soft fabric of his smoking pants over slender hips and let it drop to the floor, standing there in only his boxer briefs and socks, feeling strangely naked while still covered in a little clothing.

What Hannibal saw found his approval. The young man was lithe but not thin, something about him made him appear smaller than he was and he sensed how insecure he was, standing there, shifting only slightly from one foot to the other. His skin was pale, untouched by the sun, and smooth, with a beautiful neck. The stubborn set of his jaw was still clenched, but not he relaxed a little and looked even younger, even more innocent.

Hannibal raised a hand and reached out for him.

“Come here,” he demanded and without a single thought, the stranger made a step out of the puddle of his trousers and too his hand, allowed Hannibal to pull him closer and between his legs, where soft kisses were pressed to the skin of his belly. “Beautiful,” Hannibal whispered and his warm breath on his skin made him shudder, his hands trying to find leverage on the shoulders of the man who was kissing and licking over his skin, circling round his belly button, and then he found himself dragged onto the bed, kneeling on the sheets and looking up at Hannibal who was standing now next to the bed, still touching and caressing his bare shoulders. He leaned up and returned the soft kisses that were now offered to him. A strong hand wrapped itself around the back of his neck, holding him and pulling him deeper into the kiss, and he felt his knees grow weak, wrapping his arms around Hannibal’s shoulders and mewled into his mouth when he felt elegant fingers find their way into his underpants and into his crack, not hesitating to push one digit unto the first knuckled into his tight hole, pushing and pulling and fingering him slowly open.

The kisses they shared become more intimate, slow and languid, deep and wet.

The younger man’s hands were shaking when he started to open the shirt of the still completely dressed other man and finally he found access to the thick and surprisingly soft chest hair that he had not expected and that pleased him thoroughly, something that had always been a turn on for him. He shuddered when a second fingertip pressed into him while he pushed jacket and shirt over Hannibal’s shoulders and gained full access to his wide and toned chest touching every inch of skin and hair, starting to kiss over the strained muscles and the chest that was moving from heavy breathing that spoke of the arousal the other man felt as well. He mouthed over his nipples without quite touching them, kissed the soft belly and then returned up to his nipples where he now paid the already stiffened buds more attention and licked over one, and then closed his lips over it, sucking gently and felt the hand in his curls hold onto him tighter. The finger in his hole hooked itself against his prostate and made him almost scream, but instead he bit into Hannibal’s chest who moaned in reaction.

Hannibal leaned his head back, the eyes closed at the caresses of the man who was about to become his lover, still fingering him, now again with two fingers, before he pulled him up for more kisses, licking immediately into his mouth and consuming the delicious taste of the other.

They looked into each other’s eyes, pupils blown wide with lust and desire, before the younger let go of him and with a knowing smile went to kiss downwards his body, where he finally opened his trousers and pulled them over mouthwatering hipbones, the underwear going the same way at once.

The cock that sprang free was one of the most beautiful specimen that he had ever seen in his life, and he was proud to say it were maybe not as much as other men his age had seen but still not few. Long and with a girth that would touch him in all the right places, would stretch him to the limit and make him scream in passion. Oh yes, this would turn out to be a wonderful and pleasurable night. His hand wrapped itself around the uncut shaft, stroking the velvet skin and then he pressed a soft kiss to the base of Hannibal’s cock, into the trimmed next of his pubic hair, taking in the musky and clean scent of the other man, further arousing and setting his whole body on fire. His lips pressed gently kissed along the length until he reached the tip, licking around the foreskin and then he went down on him and without hesitation took Hannibal’s whole length into his mouth and down his throat, lacking a gag reflex and surprising the other man. He chocked only a little, then let him slip from his lips, spittle and precum missing on his tongue and repeated his efforts, sucking the older man slowly until he moaned louder. He licked again up the whole length and then started to kiss and lick over his heavy balls, ignoring that the fingers in his ass were now starting to fuck him open, readying him for what both men knew would follow soon.

Suddenly, Hannibal pulled him from his cock, making him stop in his ministrations abruptly, and he knew that the other was no longer able to hold back and wait any longer.

Their lips crashed against each other, the kiss they now shared no longer gentle but filled with wanton need and passion, with an unspoken desire that was unexplainable and unexpected, something feral and primal, and something out of either man’s control. Feeling the skin of the other man on their own took their breath away, making both shiver in anticipation.

Hannibal’s fingers were still inside him, pulling against his rim, having him long ready and when he finally pushed him down onto the bed, onto his front and before he understood what was going on he felt the lips of the man on his round cheeks, and then pushing into his crack and licking over his already open hole. The tip of his tongue was slowly circling him before it pushed into him and the slurping sounds of the man behind him, holding him open with both hands, eating him out made his eyes roll back in his head, more and more losing control over his senses. His hands cramped into the sheets underneath him, his legs widened automatically further to give his lover more access to tongue him deeper and finally let his brain go to mush and lose the ability to think clearly. A finger pushed into him again, twisting and turning while Hannibal still kissed and licked around him, the warm breath on his skin and the closeness to the other man causing him to bite into the duvet to stop himself from moaning even louder.

Hannibal sat up between his legs, kneeling and he felt the hard cock rubbing into his crack, against his hole, and the knowledge that he would not have to wait much longer made him squeeze his eyes shut tight. He would later not be able to remember when or where Hannibal had pulled a condom out, but suddenly, Hannibal grabbed both his hips and pulled him against his body, entering him at the same time, uniting them without mercy.

He screamed, the eyes flying open, adjusting to the girth of his lover, his legs trembling and every muscle of his body tense and strained, fighting to regain control but without a chance to do so. Hannibal pulled out with the movement of his lips and pushed back in with his whole length without hesitation, repeating the movement again and again until they had found a relentless rhythm and the younger man pushed back against his thrusts, welcoming to be filled completely. Every thrust hit him against his prostate, something no lover of his ever had managed to achieve before and through the cloud of his desire he became aware that this was a man who fucked to please his partner as well as himself, who was hedonistic with every inch of his gorgeous skin. He started to moan, the back arched and his hands still holding onto the sheets, feeling one strong hand stroking up the length of his spine, with a firm pressure that let no doubt who was in control, and he was happily giving in to that strength. His moans became again short screams when Hannibal sped up and then slowed down again, knowing exactly how to press his buttons and how to make him his willing sex toy. He had never felt this slutty and this needy before, and he was not ashamed of feeling so. Maybe he would be tomorrow, having sex like this with a man he just met, but he knew that tomorrow would hold other horrors for him that he would have to face and deal with for the rest of his life. Right now, he could not care less and gave himself to the feeling of being wanted, of being desired.

Hannibal pulled out of him and turned them, getting onto his back and pulled him on top of him and getting the indication, he immediately sat down on him, shifting his hips into the right position and took all of Hannibal again while lowering himself down.

The speed and force with which he started to ride him let both of them breathless, bodies covered in a sheen of sweat.

Hannibal shudder when his young lover touched his chest again, a flat hand on him to find hold, and his own hand clasped around it, holding it. He felt callouses on the fingers of the other, took in the little scar on his chest, and his enchanting beauty. He tried to remember every line of his face, of his body, already planning to draw him from his memory one day, remembering the hours he had spent with the beautiful stranger.

The younger man’s hand went up his body, trembling fingers caressing his collarbones and then the line of his neck, then closing gently around his throat.

Hannibal looked up into those eyes that now were dark with lust, unfocussed and staring down at him while his hips were still rotating and taking him, controlling both their lust with the movements of his body.

Their eyes locked into each other and for a moment it looked like the younger man shrugged off a thought and then allowed Hannibal to pull him down, still moving his hips and fucking himself on Hannibal’s cock. He shuddered and closed his eyes, feeling his release nearing and then he lost all control and filled the condom with his hot seed while being buried deep inside the body of the younger man, who followed him over the edge seconds later, painting his stomach with his own release.

Both of them were panting, the younger man’s legs cramping and trembling, being hold tight by Hannibal’s arms who pressed him to his body. Hannibal pressed a slow kiss into the damp curls of the other, closing his eyes and being overcome by sleep only moments later, still thinking of the beauty he had the luck to find tonight.

Hannibal woke from a slumber that he did not know how long it had lasted with the feeling that something was not the way it was supposed to be.

There was a heavy weight on his chest, and a stinging pain at his neck. His eyes snapped open when the sleepiness had fallen from him like a sheet would have dropped to the ground and his hands flew up.

The room was still dark and moonlight was painting dark shadows at the walls, telling him that the night was not yet over.

His lover, the young man he had picked up at the soiree, was sitting on his chest, as naked as he had been in the moments he had last put his eyes on him, his beautiful face surrounded by his messy and unruly curls, the eyes that spoke of the strain and concentration that he used to do what he was doing. His whole position was mirroring the moments when he had ridden them to completion maybe hours before.

Hannibal’s hands gripped his wrists that were holding something, but he did not allow him to stop him, did not hesitate to pull whatever he was pulling further, causing the pain to increase and stopped Hannibal’s ability to breathe.

His hands found what he was holding, finding the wetness of his own blood.

A thin string, wrapped around his neck, digging into his skin.

Hannibal gasped against the resistance of the string, realizing what was happening. His breath not returning, making his eyes bulge and making him choke and cough, a gurgling sound coming from his tortured throat.

His lover, that innocent and beautiful looking boy, was trying to kill him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: consensual, aggressive sex

His lover tried to kill him.

The younger man had wrapped something thin, a chord, a cable maybe, wrapped around his neck and was pulling with all the strength his lithe body could summon up. Every muscle of the attacker’s body was strained and the tendons and veins were prominent under the force he was using.

The skin of Hannibal’s neck was bruised, was tearing and he felt blood on his hands when he tried to weave his fingers into the unexpected weapon, his own blood, the chord, the string, the whatever it was, digging itself into his skin, painfully and with the intent to press the life out of him.

He gurgled and then he used his left leg to gain leverage, pushing himself up and trying to push the lighter man off his own body, but he was desperate, insisting and not willing to give up. He held onto him tight, not willing, not able to let go of his aim to kill Hannibal.

His fingers underneath the chord, giving him just a little space, a second to react, he pushed his fist against the other’s chest, making him gasp, while his thigh hit his back and pushed him a little forward, making him tumble for a second, but not let go, small fists grasping the string that he used to harm Hannibal still. His face was a mask of pain itself, covered with sweat and tears, with an expression that was somewhere between fear, agony and confusion.

The young man’s mouth was pulled into a snarl, aggressive and telling Hannibal that he was trying to stay in control but Hannibal was taller, was stronger, there was still a chance that he would be able to overpower him, that the rest of his strength could be activated by his survival instinct and that he would have a small, a slight chance to win this fight for his life.

Hannibal stretched his right leg, let it relax for a second and then tensed the muscles and snapped it back up and let his angled knee hit the other man’s back.

The attacker huffed and gasped and fell forward and for a slip second, he eased the grip on the string, trying to grasp it again, but it had been Hannibal’s moment to push him off his body, the body that had brought him job and pleasure only hours ago and now was nothing but the nameless man who tried to end Hannibal’s life.

Still clinging to Hannibal’s body like his own life depended on it, he fell to the floor and landed underneath Hannibal, who had used his own weight to push them over the edge of the bed, the air being pressed suddenly from his own lungs and the eyes widened in surprise and shock. Understanding that he had lost his opportunity dawned and now it was him trying to push Hannibal from him, trying to get away from underneath him, trying to escape, to crawl away, hitting him with a fist against his jaw, pushing with the other hand at the same time. His face showed the desperation, the anguish he found himself in.

“Get…off…me,” he growled, pushing again against Hannibal’s shoulder, the other hand scratching his face trying to get him off him, their bodies again as close as they had been last night. “Get…”

His words stopped when Hannibal’s fist hit him at his own jaw, causing his head to snap to the side. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head, obviously fighting dizziness. A drop of blood appeared on his lip and his tongue flipped over the spot and cleaned it, before he again tried to gain momentum and push the taller man off him, angling his arm and pushing his elbow against the hairy chest, pushing into his pectoral muscle and against his ribs, lifting him off a little but not enough to gain freedom and escape. Now, he tried to push his shoulder up, tried to get somehow more space underneath Hannibal, tried to get that one inch he needed to push him off, shove him off.

Again, he pushed his elbow up, this time it hit Hannibal’s eye and the older man now indeed let go for a second, and he was able to turn and crawl away, but just when he had intended to jump to his feet, a hand wrapped itself around his ankle and stopped him, made him fall down again against the carpet, his face hitting the floor abruptly, his hands flat on the floor left and right next to his head to support him, but he was pulled backwards before he could get up, and his chest rubbed over the rough carpet, his nipples being irritated against it. His fingers tried to find hold on the carpet, grasping, digging into the fabric, his nails splitting and leaving bloody traces on the beige floor, his mouth open in a silent scream, feet kicking and struggling against the force with which he was pulled.

Then, he was suddenly turned and lifted, again he gasped in surprise and the air left his lungs when he was forcefully pushed against a wall, his toes barely touching the ground.

One of Hannibal’s hands was wrapped around his throat, the controlled man’s face a mask of a feral animal that was fighting for its life, for survival and suddenly the thought was present that only one of them would make it out of this room alone.

Again, he was kicking his legs, trying to fight against the strength of the man he had attacked, his hands around the wrists that were holding him against the wall, his body trapped between the wooden furnace and the hot body that was pressing against him from the front, firm muscles, hot skin and soft hair that he had touched, caressed and desired only moments ago, or so it felt. A lifetime ago. Something that should have never happened.

The hand around his neck closed, choking him and now it was him who was gasping for air. His eyes widened further, mouth open and the face wet with tears, red with stress. Fear was written on his features, fear of death, fear of losing this battle that he had started.

His foot hit Hannibal’s shin, but Hannibal only shifted slightly, pressing his body with even more force and pressure against his, pushing him further into the wall, hips and chests closer together than ever.

Hannibal’s whiskey brown eyes looked right into his, narrowed in question, the expression of disgust and hate visible, the man panting and covered himself in sweat, the eyes as well filled with tears, overwhelmed by unexpected emotions and the rush of adrenaline that the fight for his life had brought to the surface.

“Let…go,” the younger man whispered against the choke hold Hannibal still had on him.

“Shut…up,” Hannibal snarled, almost not recognizing his own voice and making his words even more powerful with shoving his body again against the younger man’s, whose eyes suddenly widened even further at the hardness that was pressing against his hip, having long felt his own unwanted arousal rise in his stomach.

They were panting into each other’s faces, drinking the breath the other let out, coming one, being one.

And suddenly, Hannibal’s lips were on his, pressing hard against him, kissing him, his tongue invading his mouth without finesse but unsated hunger, but Hannibal snapped back when teeth dug themselves into his lower lip, biting down hard and making him stop.

Looking into the younger man’s eyes, he searched for something, and then they crashed against each other with unexpected force. Their lips found each other in a scorching kiss, taking the breath completely from the other’s lungs, uniting them as if it was the only means of survival in this fight.

Hannibal’s free hand went down and heaved him up as if he did not weigh a thing, and immediately he wrapped his legs around the taller man, trying, needing to get closer, needing to feel him. Still, Hannibal’s other hand was wrapped around his throat and remained to be while he pushed them off the wall and turned them together towards the bed, where he dropped his body down with the weight of his own, covering him without hesitation.

His own cock already harder than ever, he rubbed writhed underneath Hannibal, trying to get friction, wanting to feel more than this, wanting to feel alive.

He was still choked when Hannibal pressed his hard body between his legs, the rock-hard erection pressing against the younger man’s hip, then his groin, until he slipped a hand between them and guided the tip of his cock against his unprepared hole, still only a little lose from their previous coupling, Hannibal did not consider the other’s comfort or pleasure when he pushed inside him without preparation, filling him immediately to the limit, making him finally scream out in pain when the sides of his channel gave reluctantly way for the intrusion. He was sure he was tearing, but he did not care. All that counted was the man that filled him, that took up hard thrusts immediately without regard for him, pulling out all the way and shoving himself back deep inside the tight heat of his body. His slender legs, toned from running, spread as far as they could, angling up and trying to hold the other man, trying to get him even deeper inside.

The men they had been, the older man who never lost control and the younger man who seemed so insecure, were gone within seconds and all that was left were two animals that did not make any kind of love but gave themselves to each other in a primal and animalistic fucking. The room was filled with nothing but the wet sound of their meat slapping against each other, the moans and screams they both let out, the grunts and snarls. Fingers dig into skin, leaving bloody scratches, teeth bit into flesh, leaving bruises and that gorgeous, perfect cock was driving them both crazy with uncontrollable lust.

There was nothing skillful, apt or subtle about what was happening between them, it was as if both had lost control over their senses and the ability to think, every cell of their bodies on fire, every inch of their skin covered with sweat.

Hannibal bit hard into the other’s neck, tasting blood and knowing he would leave not only a bruise but a wound that would maybe scar, and he did not car, nor did the other care when he tore at Hannibal’s silver hair and came back with a strand ripped out, his cracked nails leaving bloody tears in his skin when he continued to tear at his back, trying desperately to find something to hold onto. And every second of pain, every second of passion, did not matter. All that mattered was the hunger that had taken over control.

Hannibal fucked him without mercy, with so much force that he was shoved over the sheets of the bed until his head his the headboard and he needed to lift a hand to push back against it, and then even that did not matter anymore. He lifted his hips, welcoming each thrust into his now loose tunnel, feeling inches of heated skin inside him, raw and rough, pulsing and only easing its way inside him by the drops of cum Hannibal was losing.

A hand gripped his messy curls, holding onto him, and finally the hand around his throat went away when the other also gripped his hair, tearing at it while Hannibal continued to fuck into him and suck at his throat and ear, and for a moment the thought that it would be so easy for Hannibal, who had turned into a predator, to bite into his flesh and tear out his throat with his teeth. The dominance the other had without him submitting completely had him aroused to limits he had never known before, and the thought that Hannibal was able to do serious damage to him, maybe not even hesitating after what he had done, was bringing him to a climax that he had never experienced like this before. His cock, though hard, rubbing against Hannibal’s body and slapping against his own belly, was untouched and seemed to suddenly explode with eruptions of his own cum. His whole body cramped and trembled, his legs shaking and his eyes squeezed shut. He heard someone scream and only after seconds realized it was himself screaming out in his orgasm, the body tense and arched like a bow, feet digging into the mattress, toes curling and his fingers pressed hard against Hannibal’s back, who fucked him merciless through his climax and continued to do so until he started to think that Hannibal would never again stop, not that he would not welcome that. He felt on fire, his skin overly sensitive and every touch of Hannibal’s fingers, body and skin arousing him more until he found himself coming a second time only seconds after his first orgasm, not having known he or any man was able to do that. His screams were now silent, eyes rolled back in his head, mouth wide open until Hannibal kissed him again with feral energy, licking into him, consuming him completely and finally filling his ass with his own release.

Hannibal fucked until his cock became soft in him and finally slipped out, rolling off him this time without holding him in his arms, bringing distance between them.

The only sound in the room was the heavy breathing of the two men, who both tried to collect their senses, both looking like they went through hell with the first bruises forming and bloody bite marks and scratches covering their bodies.

Hannibal lay there for a moment and then raised a hand to rub his face.

“Get out,” Hannibal panted then, his accented voice a low whisper.

The young stranger closed his eyes, trying to collect his breath, and then he pushed himself off the bed, collecting his clothing from the floor where he had dropped it last night.

There were no words while he got dressed, quickly, not caring if the buttons found the correct holes, and then he went to the door, opening it. There, he turned around for a second, looking at the man that was lying on the bed, on his back, one leg angled up, the face covered with one hand, the chest moving under heavy breathing, still the aftermath of the fucking they had just went through.

He did not say a word. Not a goodbye. Not the words of hatred and disgust that he wanted to throw at Hannibal. Instead, he went outside and shut the door.

Still finishing his dressing in the elevator, closing his shirt, pushing it into his trousers, he took the elevator downwards and left the luxury hotel, earning an inquisitive look from the night manager. He had noticed that his watch was missing, as was the bow tie, both he had taken off the night before but even though the watch had not been cheap, he would not degrade himself further by returning upstairs and beg Lecter to return it to him.

Walking with determined steps through the lobby, he did not look up, trying to not let anyone see in which state he found himself to be, but finally he was outside.

The early morning light painted grey shadows on the street that he started to walk down, knowing his way.

His steps became with every second faster, still faster, until he found himself running towards the hotel he had booked for himself, not half as fancy as the one Hannibal Lecter had been staying in, having not wanted to stay under the same roof, had never wanted to get this close to him. He had allowed himself to be degraded to a plaything for the older and probably more experienced man that he had found strangely fascinating when he met him last night for the first time.

He was not like this. He did not have hook ups and he did not have one night stands. He had not sex with a man who had not even asked his name before taking him to bed.

He had not wanted to have sex with Hannibal Lecter. And then there had suddenly been this desire he had never asked for, that had made him into a man who had lost control.

He was disgusted with himself.

He had slept with the man he had wanted to kill, had planned to kill.

He had planned this so carefully, had prepared this in every detail, and everything had went downhill because he had not been able to reject the idea of having sex with the man he hated with all his being.

Hannibal Lecter had been in his nightmares for weeks, and now he had let the monster get this close to him, had allowed him to see him at his most vulnerable, had allowed him to pleasure him and find pleasure in him, had allowed him to fill him with his seed that was now trickling down his thigh, escaping his body.

Tears filled his eyes again and while running down the street, stumbling, sobbing and feeling humiliated, he could only think one thing.

He had failed.


	3. Chapter 3

_**6 months later** _

_**London** _

Hannibal watched his guests devour the food he had spent preparing the whole day, the finest filets and the finest ingredients thrown at the feet of pigs who did not worship or cherish anything that had been done for them, to please them, to spoil them. Every single one of these people disgusted him and the mere thought of them spending time in the house that he had called his home for the past four years brought bile up his throat. These members of a so-called high society, posh and spoiled but without any manners were a bad excuse of what they should have been, what money and titles should enable them to be. The lack of sophistication was still an unpleasant surprise for him, but it should not have been. After all these years in their midst, he should have gotten used to it.

“Priscilla here said you are a real flesh and blood count, Hannibal?” The overweight and red-faced patron of the orchestra asked him while chewing on his dessert. “I didn’t know they made those where you are from. What was it again? Poland or Russia?”

Hannibal winced on the inside.

“Lithuania,” he corrected but did not grace the other man with additional information.

“Thought they killed all of you in the red revolution,” the other chuckled, a drip of chocolate running other his plump bottom lip.

“October revolution,” Hannibal said, more than just a little annoyed. “And that took place in Russia.”

“All the same,” the man, whose name Hannibal did not care to remember, chuckled and now some of the cream dropped over his lip, truly eating like a pig.

Hannibal took a deep breath and it took all his self-control to not lash out and kick him out of his house, but a look from Bedelia, who sat opposite him and in the years of their collaboration had long learned to read his mind, stopped him from doing so.

“So,” Mrs. Komeda, who was visiting London and had snatched an invitation to the dinner party Hannibal was hosting. “I heard your contract with the London Philharmonic Orchestra is coming soon to an end? Have you already made any plans to extend your engagement?”

Hannibal swallowed the dessert wine he was just drinking and smiled kindly. Even while intrusive and curious, the American author at least had some manners.

“We have several offers but are undecided so far,” Hannibal replied. “What I can say is that the offer to extend my work for the London Philharmonic Orchestra is very tempting, but some of the other offers we have received have great promise as well. I will have to make a decision within the next weeks.”

“Days,” Bedelia corrected him with a smirk. “You’re stalling much too long already, Hannibal.”

Hannibal sighed dramatically, but continued to smile at his longtime friend and manager, and raised his glass to toast into her direction. Bedelia too continued to smile knowingly and looked right at the handsome man on the other side of the table.

“I promise that I will come to a decision as soon as possible,” he said, and added, looking at Mrs. Komeda with a wink. “This happens when you invite your manager to a dinner party.”

Mrs. Komeda laughed, a little too loud to Hannibal’s taste, but honest, her eyes crinkling and her long, thin neck arched backwards.

“You should maybe make an honorable woman out of Bedelia, my dear,” she winked back at him.

Hannibal’s brow rose, while Bedelia could not hold back laughter, Anthony who was sitting close to her rolled his eyes and put another spoon full of chocolate mousse into his mouth.

“If there was anything more between us than friendship and business,” she said, returning his toast. “There would be bloody murder within days. No, Mrs. Komeda, Hannibal and I are merely business acquaintances and good friends. His tastes have a very different flavor from what I have to offer him.”

Hannibal hid his grin in the wine glass he had been raising again to his lips.

Mrs. Komeda smiled at him, and then patted his free hand that was resting on the table.

“Oh, I know,” she said, smiling. “Remember when we met the last time in New York? That beautiful boy that stole you from our company?”

A knot formed in Hannibal’s stomach. Even after months, his thoughts now and then strayed to the memory of the young man that had been his lover for one night, who had made him lose his well-maintained control and who had tried to kill him.

Bedelia raised a brow.

“You never told me,” she said with her usual slow and soft voice that often hid the fact that her mind worked faster than that of most people Hannibal had ever met and that she saw things nobody else saw.

“Nothing worth telling,” Hannibal gave back. “A short distraction without any meaning.”

Bedelia continued to look at him for a while and then the short twitch of one eye showed that she decided that she would inquire about this at a different time. Nothing Hannibal was looking forward to.

Hannibal had brought all the dirty dishes and glasses into his well-furnished kitchen, and turned the dishwasher on. Those parts of the food that could be saved had been packed into vacuumed bags and put into the freezer.

Even though the hour was late, he took a book and poured himself another glass of wine, taking a seat in the library that he also used as his office and tried to relax for a while.

Instead of relaxing, his thoughts strayed back to the encounter he had six months ago. In thought, he touched his neck at the opened collar of the dark shirt he had changed into, something he had hid from other people’s view. The scar his one-night-stand and almost killer had left behind was still visible on his tanned skin, and he could feel the slightly uneven skin under his fingertips. He still did not know what had cause the young, almost innocent looking man to snap like this, to change from the passionate yet gentle lover into a ruthless and almost feral creature of aggression and violence. It was possible that it had been drugs, maybe something else. But even though Hannibal could not stop thinking about that night, and the scars he wore on his body as a reminder of what had happened being the testimony of those desperate moments, it did not matter anymore. He would never see that man again, did not even know his name, and still he found himself intrigued by him.

The ringing of his phone stopped his thoughts and he looked at the screen of the device before accepting the call.

“Despite the time difference, should you not be in bed already?” He asked without preamble.

The girl on the other end of the line laughed, pearly and with a happily amused sound.

“Good evening to you too, dad,” Abigail said. “Should you not be in bed already, considering your age?”

Hannibal smiled to himself.

“What is the reason for your call, my dear?”

He heard something shuffle and knew that Abigail was probably lounging on her bed, living in a dormitory on campus instead of having accepted a furnished apartment he had offered to provide for her when she had moved to the states after she had finished school.

“Can’t I call my very handsome and sweet dad when the mood strikes me?”

Hannibal chuckled.

“Alone the fact that you call me handsome and sweet can only mean that you want something,” he said, leaning back in his chair and putting one leg up on the small stool next to it.

“I miss you,” Abigail said after a moment of silence, the voice a whisper. “I really, really miss you. I know what you are going to say…I was on a boarding school before, and you travelled always a lot and I’ve rarely seen you anyway, but…this is different. College is…it’s so hard, dad.”

A little alarmed Hannibal sat back up.

“I miss you too,” he said, voice soft. “Of course I miss you too. You are the light of my life, Abigail. But you want to become a doctor and the college you chose is the best to be prepared for university, it has the best program, and…”

“I’m being bullied, dad.”

Hannibal straightened his back, every muscle tense all of a sudden.

“Who?”

“Just a girl in one of my classes,” Abigail said, trying to sound strong but Hannibal knew her well enough to know that she was fighting with tears. “She’s just being mean because we’re rich and I still got a scholarship, but she is saying mean things. Like that I must have a sugar daddy to pay for my bills and things like that. When I explained it’s my dad paying, she started to call me daddy’s girl and she’s kinda popular and, God dad, I want to punch her so much.”

“You’re not punching anyone,” Hannibal said. “How bad is it?”

“It’s bad, but I’ll live,” she said. “She said some stuff today again, and I just wanted to hear your voice. I wish I was home, dad. I wish you could make me hot cocoa or breakfast for dinner like we did back then, and then watch something on TV together and I’ll come to the symphony and listen to the orchestra and just…God, dad…Can’t I just come home?”

“Do you really want that?”

Abigail hesitated.

“Not really,” she said. “I really want to become a doctor, you know? And you’re right, we made the right decision with the college, the classes are so good and it’s so much fun. Just…sometimes it’s really hard to be all alone here.”

Hannibal nodded.

“It’s good to hear your voice, dad,” she said. “I love you.”

He smiled.

“I love you too, my dear,” he said. “Try to sleep and we will talk tomorrow again. Promise you will call me when you are free.”

“Pinky promise,” she said. “Good night, dad.”

“Good night, my dear,” he said and ended the call.

His left hand rubbed over his face.

This was news he had not expected. He could deal with everything, with the trouble at work he had gone through some months ago, with the memories of an attack on his life, with incompetent musicians and members of the press. What he could not deal with was his daughter, the only family he had left, being hurt and trying to hide her tears while she was talking to him on the phone.

He had adopted Abigail many years ago, when he had felt lonelier and lonelier and the thought of raising a child had been something that other people thought him incapable off, but the young American orphan had looked at him from bright blue eyes when her class has visited a rehearsal and he the moment he had heard that her father had committed suicide after killing his wife and trying to kill Abigail, he had decided that Abigail Hobbs had to become Abigail Lecter. Had it really been already twelve years since then? He smiled to himself, thinking that it had been the best decision of his life and he had not regretted taking her in as his for a single moment since.

Thinking a moment, he went through a stack of letters that he had stored on his desk, and after sorting through them, he finally found one that he read over once more and then dialed a number on his phone.

“I hope you have a good reason to call me at this time,” Bedelia answered the call. “Anthony and I were just getting comfortable.”

“What you and your lover are doing is really nothing of my concern,” Hannibal said.

“Anthony wants me to tell you that he expects the recipe for the chocolate mousse in his emails until tomorrow,” Bedelia laughed after a male voice in the background had said something. “And he wants you to know that he loves you and is going to marry you.”

“He is drunk,” Hannibal remarked.

“Tipsy,” Bedelia meant. “Why are you calling at…two in the morning, Hannibal.”

“I made a decision,” he said.

A moment of silence passed and he heard steps, which told him that Bedelia was moving into another room and away from her nosy and clingy lover.

“I can speak now,” she said after a door was shut. “You made a decision?”

“I did,” he said while putting his signature under the contract that had been attached to the letter. “I’m accepting the offer to lead the BSO. We’re moving to Baltimore.”


	4. Chapter 4

**_Baltimore_ **

“Sorry I’m late,” Will said while plopping down in the chair opposite Beverly.

The other three at the table looked up at him and of course it was Beverly who grinned.

“You’re always late,” she said.

“Not always,” he objected.

“Yes, always,” Jimmy said and smiled into his glass of beer.

“Et tu, Brute?” Will said, clutching a hand to his heart. “You wound me.”

“You wouldn’t need to be wounded if you were once on time? We said drinks at six. Now it’s…,” Beverly looked at her phone. “Half past. What’s your excuse?”

Will stared at her for a moment.

“I needed to get Winston fixed,” he said.

Brian rolled his eyes.

“Only you, and I repeat: only you!, would give your instrument a name.”

“Other men give their…other instrument a name,” he remarked with a smile, waving the waiter over. “I get a bourbon, pure, thank you.”

“What?” Beverley said, her trademark smirk on the lips. “You have no name for little Willy?”

“I…,” Will started, but was interrupted by Jimmy.

“Little Willy?” He said. “I’ve seen _it_ in the bathroom, and let me tell you, little is not the right word for it.”

“Big Willy then?” Beverly asked.

“Maybe it’s a William then?” Brian said.

“Will you all stop discussing my penis?” Will said, both hands raised, just in the moment when the frowning waiter put down his glass in front of him. “It’s really just an average dick and…”

“I bet your lover does not complain about it,” Beverly said, the head tilted a little.

“Which lover? I don’t have a lover, why do you think I have a lover?” Will said quickly and a little confused.

“You were talking to Matthew a little too intimately yesterday for you two to not have hooked up after.”

“I would not touch Matthew if he was the last man on earth, and not for the lack of him trying. He’s…creepy.”

“Your face is creepy.”

“As is yours.”

“Children!” Jimmy said, still smiling. “Behave.”

Beverly put an innocent expression on, betrayed by the mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Yes, daddy,” she cooed, making Will almost spit out his drink that he had taken.

“You’re a nuisance, Beverly Katz,” Jimmy said. “A nuisance. I might have to report you to Chilton for inappropriate behavior.”

“As if,” she said. “Chilton gives a fuck about inappropriate behavior as long as I’m good at what I’m doing, and I’m the best.”

Will rolled his eyes.

“Second best,” he said.

“After who?”

“After me.”

She laughed and reached over the table to slap his arm.

“Damn right you are!” She said loudly and grinned. “Another bourbon for the fucking best cellist of the world.”

Will grinned and accepted a minute later another glass of bourbon.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he said with a wink. “Maybe not of the world, of the East Coast is good enough.”

“Nah,” Brian said. “She’s right, you’re amazing, if you only would not be this much of a recluse and would be a little more…” Brian straightened his back and puffed his chest out. “You know?”

Will smiled, leaned back in his chair, but shook his head.

“I’m not like that,” he said, drinking more of the bourbon that was already making him feel a little dizzy.

“Maybe if you got laid, you would be a little more at ease,” Beverly suggested. “Matthew…”

“Is a creep,” Brian said in Will’s stead. “He’s stalking Will, and that’s not exactly a healthy behavior.” He leaned over to Will, who was watching the exchange. “If you ever go for Matthew, I’m going to tie you down somewhere until your brain cells started working again.”

Will raised both hands in a defensive gesture.

“Again, I won’t touch Matthew,” Will said. “I have standards.”

“Yes, but your standards make you very lonely,” Beverly said. “We need to find you a boyfriend.”

“The only thing you need to do is leave me alone,” he said with a sugar sweet smile, emptying his second glass and looking over his shoulder, looking for the waiter.

His eyes scanned the bar, and then he froze.

There was a man standing at the bar, turned so he could only see his back. He was tall, legs for days, long and slender but underneath the well fitted trousers toned, narrow hips and broad shoulders. He was wearing dark grey chinos and a brown leather jacket. Leaning forward, he was talking to the bartender. The hair on display was generally short, but the top strands were longer and painted with streaks of silver in dark blonde and light brown hair.

Will’s heart beat faster or stopped beating, he could not say. Sweat flushed onto his forehead and his eyes widened within seconds.

Impossible.

He could not be here.

He had to get out of here before he saw him.

Before…

“Will?” Beverly asked, her previously amused voice now worried. “Everything okay?”

“I have to…,” he said while getting up and searching his jeans pocket for money. “I have to go, something…I forgot something I need to do today, sorry.”

Still his eyes were on the man at the bar.

Lecter.

Impossible.

Just when Will was about to leave, run out of the pub, the man turned around and looked in his movement right at Will, who thought he would die there and then. But then, the face looking at him, did not look like the man he had spent a night with six months ago. He was handsome, but he held not the fascinating charisma Lecter had, and Will almost slumped down onto his chair again, but still he was shaking and felt nauseous.

“I see you tomorrow,” Will said and left the table, went outside without waiting for his friend to tell him goodbye as well.

Out on the street, he pulled the collar of his jacket up, when a hand stopped him and he turned around, ready to fight off an attacker, but he looked into the worried cat like eyes of Beverly.

“Is everything okay, Will?”

He nodded.

“I’m okay,” he said. “I just thought I saw someone who I didn’t want to meet. Wasn’t him though, but now I’m feeling…”

“I get it,” she said softly. “I’m here for you, you know? If you ever want to talk.”

“I know,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to his friend’s cheek. “Love you.”

“I love you too,” she said, still looking thoughtful. “You are twitchy since you came back from your trip to New York. Did something happen there?”

He shook his head.

“It just didn’t go like I wanted it to,” he said with a shrug. “A missed opportunity.”

Beverly nodded.

“Get home safely, will you?” She asked. “And text me when you get home.”

“Yes, mom,” he smiled, trying to sound playful and then turned to leave.

Even though he tried to look calm and tried to collect his senses, he felt like he was going to freak out, and it did not help when he was stopped at the next corner by another hand on his arm.

“Hey,” a voice he had never heard before said and when he turned around, he saw the stranger from the pub.

Up close, he had no idea how he had been able to mistake him for Lecter. This man was slightly taller than Lecter, maybe a little more slender even. The hair was more blond than grey, and his eyes where not whiskey golden brown but blue.

“I saw you at the bar,” he said, smiling. “I wanted to invite you for a drink, but you ran away before I could.”

Will frowned.

“So you thought you would run after me and…do what? Drag me into an alley and convince me to blow you?”

The stranger raised a brow.

“Blunt,” he said. “I like that. And I would like what you just suggested, such pretty lips, I’m sure they would look beautiful wrapped around my…”

Will huffed.

“Then why don’t we go at it,” he said and looked over his shoulder, indeed finding an alley close behind him, into which he went, followed by the tall stranger, who, as soon as they were hidden from public view by the trash container, pushed him against a wall and kissed him open mouthed and without any finesse.

Will ground himself against the leg of the other man that was pressed between his legs, one hand of the other man cupping his growing erection through his pants. He tore at the belt that held the chinos of the other, opening the buckle and finally slipping his hand inside, finding a hard cock that was pulsing under his touch. Long, with a nice girth, a little curved. Will pumped him in his pants, his forehead resting at the other man’s shoulder, before he sank to his knees and pulled the trousers down and looked with blown pupils at the cock in front of him, wrapping his lips around him without further foreplay and sucked him a few times.

Something was wrong.

This was not what he wanted.

This was not…

He let the cock slip from his lips, a thin rope of spittle hanging from his lips and pushed the man away from him.

“What the fuck?” The other hissed, stumbling backwards, while Will get back to his feet.

“I…,” he said. “I can’t. Sorry.”

He turned and started to run.

“Fucking whore!” The man yelled after him, but Will did not care.

He did not care if anyone called him names, or if those words maybe were true. He did now know what was wrong with him, what had changed in him after that night in New York that even Beverly noticed that change.

He did not understand why he did not get Lecter out of his head.

Half an hour later, he closed finally the door to his apartment behind him, putting the large case with Winston in it against the wall next to the door and shrugged out of his jacket.

Buster yipped around his legs, happy that he was finally home, and he found a note from his neighbor on the side table that she had went for a walk with him earlier.

After feeding Buster, he went straight to his bedroom, getting out of his clothes and laying down on his bed in just his t-shirt and boxers, staring at the ceiling. He needed to remember to text Beverly that he had returned home safely, not needing to fuss over him even more than usual tomorrow, but for now, he needed a few moments just for himself, collecting and sorting his thoughts, trying to remember what life had been before New York. Before everything had changed weeks before that night happened.

Before he had met Hannibal Lecter and had gotten so much closer to the man than he had ever wanted, than he had ever planned. Of course he had wanted to get close to the man, but not as close as he had allowed him to get. And now, he found Lecter having sneaked his way into his mind again and again.

Lecter.

He remembered those elegant hands with the skilled and insistent fingers on his body. Remembered those gentle and demanding lips on his skin. Remembered the taste of his tongue and of his cock. Remembered the stretch, the delicious and agonizing stretch.

Will closed his eyes and arched his neck, touching the skin over his throat, his Adam’s apple like Lecter had done, firm but not with violence, until…

His right hand went over his chest to the edge of his shirt and pushed the fabric up until his nipples were exposed to the cold air in his bedroom, fingers grazing them, tugging and twisting until he moaned until that hint of pain he found so arousing, that edge that Lecter had found in him within seconds. He felt his cock grow into firmness again, having had deflated on his way home, but now he remembered the touch of the Lithuanian man, remembered what it had felt like to be desired without reservations.

He pushed his boxers only so far over his hips that he could get to his shaft without the item of clothing in the way to his craved pleasure. His fingers worked quickly, pulling at his hard cock, twisting towards the tip and grazing the already leaking slit, making him shudder and spread his legs in reflex as if he was waiting for a lover to get between them, push a hard and large cock inside him, but instead his fingers had to do. He wet two of his digits in his mouth and only spent seconds circling his own hole before he pushed first one and then the second finger inside him, pushing only a little, not needing the movement but only the stretch while his other hand continued to work on his cock, jerking himself faster and faster in a frenzy of held back emotions, until his cock started to pulse in his hand and emptied his scorching seed in thick ropes onto his stomach. Will’s hips left the bed, his back arching and his whole body on fire and tense, panting and only stopping himself from screaming out by biting his bottom lip.

He rolled to the side, his breath still heavy, eyes glassy and his hand still wrapped tightly around his half hard manhood, now only stroking himself slowly, gently.

“Hannibal,” Will whispered, staring into emptiness, his voice a low moan. “Hannibal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you wonder: Winston is the name of Will's cello! 😅


	5. Chapter 5

„That was very good, Timothy,“ Will said to the teenager sitting opposite him, lowering his hand that held the bow and putting Winston to the side, leaning forward. “You’re making really amazing progress. Did you try the exercises I gave you last week?”

“Those are really complicated,” the boy said, face pulled into a frown. “I can’t do those.”

Will smiled and leaned back in his chair, moving the toes of his socked feet.

“Yes, you can,” he said gently. “You have made so much progress over the past months, it’s a long way, but if you really want to become a professional musician, I tell you, it’s a lot of work.”

“I’ll never be as good as you,” Timothy said, the head lowered.

“Hey,” Will said, sitting back up and leaning forward. “Hey, look at me.”

Timothy looked up and into his teacher’s face.

“When did you apply for the mentoring program, Timothy?” Will inquired.

Timothy, a cute boy with shaggy brown hair not unlike Will’s own, thought for a moment.

“That was last summer after the camp I went to,” he then replied.

“And when did you get accepted for the mentoring program?”

“In September I think?”

Will showed one of his lopsided smiles, and resisted the urge to ruffle the boy’s hair.

“But Timothy, that’s only two months, maybe three, after you applied for the program. Here are people who wait for years to be accepted,” Will said. “You’re such a promising talent, Timmy, you can’t let yourself get down like this just because one lesson is not working out the way you want it to. You’re only reacting like this because the easy lessons are too easy for you and you learn them within days. Yes, this is more complicated, and it’s much more suited for your skill level. Maybe not for your age group, that’s true, but you are ahead of them. Far ahead. If you practice the lessons I’m giving you, I think you can audition for the youth orchestra already by the end of the term.”

Timothy’s eyes lit up.

“Really?” He asked, a little stunned. “Do you really think that, Will?”

Will nodded.

“I’ve been playing the cello as long as I can think back, just as you, and hard work always pays out, Timmy,” Will said. “You have a brilliant career ahead of you, but please, please don’t give up because a hard lesson discourages you. Just keep working on it, and when you have problems or questions, ask me, you have my number, that’s why I’m your mentor, okay?”

Timmy’s smile returned.

“Okay,” he said.

“And now, shoo and enjoy the sunny afternoon and hang out with some friends,” Will said, an eye on the clock on the wall behind the boy.

“Oh,” the boy said, turning to look at the clock himself. “I didn’t notice it was already that late.”

“Time flies,” Will winked. “You have a group rehearsal on Friday with Beverly?”

Timothy nodded while packing his cello into its case and pulling the zipper.

“Yeah,” he answered. “Beverly is cool. I think. I mean, I don’t really know her, but she seems cool.”

The eyes of the boy were again a little insecure and questioning when he looked back at Will, who himself was putting Winston into his bag.

“She is cool. Curious as hell and sometimes annoying, but she’s actually my best friend,” Will smiled.

“Are you dating her?” Timothy asked, the voice shy at the private question.

“God no,” Will laughed. “Wrong gender.”

Now the boy looked surprised at his mentor.

“You’re…,” he whispered, the eyes wide.

Will winked.

“As gay as they come,” he said. “Is that a problem for you?”

Eagerly the teenager shook his head.

“No, I just didn’t know,” Timothy said. “I…uhm…”

Will tilted the head to the side, anticipating that Timothy wanted to share something with him, but that moment the door crashed open and Beverly strolled into the rehearsal room.

“Orchestra meeting in ten,” she said casually, chewing on something. “Chilton wants to get cozy with us.”

“Was that announced? I didn’t get the memo,” Will said, while sitting down and slipping into one of his shoes.

“Because you never read your emails,” Beverly said with a roll of her eyes and turned towards Timothy who was shouldering his instrument. “Timothy, right? I see you on Friday in group torture. Will thinks highly of you, that old chap here is full of praise for his master student.”

Will rolled his eyes while Timothy blushed.

“Don’t torture him, Bev,” Will laughed. “I see you next Tuesday, Timmy?”

The teen nodded.

“See you, Will,” he said. “Goodbye, Beverly.”

“Bye, Timmy-boy.”

They both watched the boy leave the room.

“You really are scaring the kids, Bev,” Will said and carried Winston to stand against a wall and fishing in his pockets for his keys. “What’s this meeting about?”

“No clue,” Beverly said and put some more nuts that she had in her jeans pocket into her mouth, making Will wince at the thought that she was eating something from there. “Nut?” she offered and he only shook his head. “I guess someone again broke one of his rules.”

She shrugged with a laugh.

“Come on,” Will said then. “Don’t want to be late and miss the best part.”

Together the coworkers and friends left the rehearsal room which Will locked, and walked through the maze of corridors until they finally reached the main hall of the Meyerhoff, where most of their colleagues were already waiting for the meeting to begin, during which the director, Frederic Chilton, would probably give a speech, which had already started.

As silent as possible, Will and Beverly sneaked into one of the rows, trying to not disturb anyone.

The view to the stage, on which Chilton stood behind a lectern, was partially blocked and Will sighed.

“…after the many months with a heavy fluctuation of conductors we have been through, we finally could make an important step for the orchestra and the future of the BSO, maybe even for the academic programs we are…”

“Why are his speeches always this boring?” Beverly whispered, offering Jimmy, who sat on her other side, some of her nuts which he gladly took.

“I think he does it on purpose,” Reba, who sat in the row in front of them, said with a chuckle in her voice. “He’s quite eloquent when you talk to him alone.”

“He’s still a moron,” Beverly said. “I’m still upset with him for giving Jimmy and Brian a warning.”

Will snorted.

“He found them making out in a closet,” he whispered. “Even I would have given them a warning for that.”

“He’s just jealous,” Beverly hissed.

“That would explain so much,” Reba said, leaning her curly head back against the backrest of her seat, laughing. “Tobias has been sneaking around him the past weeks, he dropped hints that he’s going to be promoted soon. Concert master.”

“If Budge gets a promotion I’m quitting,” Beverly said, and Will had no doubt that she meant what she said. “To my knowledge the concert master should be a team player and not a egomaniac tyrant.”

“No, you’re not,” Jimmy said.

“Oh, yes I am. Budge is a fucking psychopath, and he’s an arrogant bastard.”

“He’s also one of the best violinists we have,” Will said.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like him. And it doesn’t mean he should be put into any kind of power position.”

“Nobody likes him, and he doesn’t give a damn,” Jimmy remarked. “He has his head so far up Chilton’s ass that he can’t see what everyone thinks.”

“Well,” Will said with a smirk. “His sight is a little bit restricted in there.”

Beverly snorted loudly, earning a chastising look from Chilton who rolled his eyes when she waved at him with one of her bright smiles.

“…therefore, the board has asked me to make the introductions, though those are merely necessary knowing many of you are already well acquainted with his work,” Chilton continued, now getting the attention of Will and his friends as well. “I’m very, very happy and beyond pleased to announce that we could steal away one of the most prolific and ingenious conductors of the world from the London Symphonics to take over the vacant position we had such a hard time finding the right match for. Ladies and gentlemen, my dear friends, I’m thrilled to introduce your new conductor, Mister Hannibal Lecter.”

Chilton held out his hand and made a welcoming gesture for a man who got up in the front row, while Will’s colleagues in the orchestra started to applaud and some even cheered, while Will did not move, did not make a single sound.

He could only stare.

That must have been a mistake.

His ears must have played him a trick. That was not what Chilton had really said.

Not Lecter.

Impossible.

Will froze in his movement, felt all blood rush into his head, sudden nausea and dizziness flooding over him like a tsunami, a painful stab right into the center of his brain. His chest felt like he could no longer breathe, his heart stopping and beating too fast at the same time.

He stared at the stage that the second man entered, his figure as elegant and with the same smooth movements he remembered.

Pictures of those moments months ago flashed before his inner eye.

Skin, touches, kisses, gentle tenderness and passionate intensity, then violence, the certainty that he had failed, that he had not been able to go through with his plan. The knowledge that he was a failure and weak and worthless.

Pictures of moments he was not able to forget, no matter how hard he tried.

His hands cramped around the rests of his seat, knuckles turning white, his whole body starting to shake as if he was tortured by a sudden fever.

“Will?” Beverly whispered, her voice a whisper and significantly worried, a hand on Will’s arm, causing him to look at her with fearful eyes. “Will, what’s wrong?”

“I…,” he started, his eyes returning to stare at the stage, where the second speaker, their new conductor had taken over the microphone and started a speech about his plans and future with the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra, a gentle smile on the handsome face, the hair shining silver and combed neatly. Hair he had run his hands through, had pulled and hold onto.

“Will?” Beverly asked again, all mischievousness gone the moment she saw how upset he was. “You’re pale as a sheet. What’s wrong?”

“I…,” he stuttered. “I have to get out…I…”

He had to get away, fast. As far as possible.

Lecter was his new boss.

Lecter.

The man he had tried to kill.

What was he going to do now?

His life was collapsing in front of him and he had no chance stopping it.

He felt sick and he knew that he had to throw up any second, his chest in a tight grip of fear and not able to withstand the pressure he felt suddenly.

He looked at her, his pupils wide with fear, shaking his head slowly as if he wanted to tell her that she should not worry and at the same time he wanted to tell himself that nothing of this was really happening, before he looked again towards the stage, deaf to the words their conductor was saying, and got up, stumbled out of his aisle and up the stairs, not seeing that Hannibal Lecter had raised his head from his notes and was looking at the running back of a young man.

Hannibal frowned, the eyes narrowing.

One of the people in the auditorium was fleeing the venue, like his life depended on the speed in which he did that.

A man, from the way he moved young, wearing dark jeans and a grey jacket. A man with a head of messy dark curls.

The fleeing man pushed the doors open and looked once more over his shoulder back down where Hannibal was standing and making his speech and their eyes met.

It took Hannibal not even a second to recognize the young man who had been his one-night-stand six months ago.

The man who tried to kill him.


	6. Chapter 6

Will had been tossing and turning the whole night, not getting a moment of sleep.

After having seen Hannibal Lecter up close during his introduction as his new boss he had spent the rest of the day huddled up in his apartment, Buster close, in his bed with the covers drawn over his head.

Of course the world of classical music was not a large one, and there always had been a chance that he would run into Lecter again one day, but when he had planned the night in New York he had not expected the outcome and now he was confronted with a situation that was beyond his control, a situation that would ruin everything that he had worked for all his life.

The next morning, he had decided to call in sick and had called Chiton’s secretary that he would because of a migraine, which was not even a lie, not available for the scheduled rehearsals, and texted Beverly to not worry. But of course he best friend had texted him throughout the day, sensing that something else was wrong.

Throughout the whole day, his head had been killing him. Cooling his forehead with an icepack, painkillers and everything that usually worked did this time not, and so he spent most of the day in bed, again buried under his blankets and tried to shut out the real world that held nothing but chaos ready for him.

The next morning, his mood had not much changed and so he decided to stay another day at home.

He was aware that he was avoiding something that he would not be able to avoid forever, but at least for the moment he was not able to face reality, to face Lecter.

When he had fled the auditorium and turned around when he pushed the door open, he had seen that Lecter had looked at him. The distance had been far and he was not sure how good the conductor’s eyes were, but he was certain that Lecter had recognized him. The way he had stopped mid-sentence for the glimpse of a second and the way his head had tilted to the side for the same amount of time had told Will unmistakably that the older man knew who he was. There was no way that Will had understood his expression the wrong way.

His boss, the world famous conductor Hannibal Lecter knew that the man who tried to kill him was part of the symphonic orchestra he had just taken over. The only way for Will to escape this situation was to quit and look for another engagement, but being a cellist was not a sought after job and finding something as nice as this position would turn out to be nearly impossible.

Will moaned and hit himself with a pillow onto the face.

Maybe he could start working as a music teacher somewhere. Children loved him and the mentoring program that he had first had not wanted to participate in had turned out to be great fun. Yes, that was maybe the direction in which he should move after quitting. Fuck the many years to being drilled to become the perfect cellist by parents and teachers, fuck the hours of bloody fingers and stiff necks.

Fuck the friends that had become a family.

Fuck the life in which he finally had felt comfortable in.

He moaned again.

No.

This was not going to do.

On the third day, he decided it was time to return to the BSO and face whatever was awaiting him, but after only a few minutes he was already aware that his return had been the wrong decision. Standing in front of the message board that hung in one of the hallways, he read the note that was pinned there again and again, the knowledge that what he had hoped to avoid had become the dread reality.

“Ain’t that great?”

He turned and found Beverley standing not only next to him but starting to lean against his shoulder with a dreamy expression on her face which made him frown.

“What’s great?” He asked.

“Lecter already scheduled an impromptu rehearsal,” she said, pointing with a finger towards the note that Will was again staring at. “Brian said he wants to get a first impression.”

Will winced.

“What’s your problem? It’s time to shine, Will,” she grinned. “You’re going to make such an impression on him, I just know that. You’re the best cellist we have, probably on the whole east coast.”

“I just wanna die,” he mumbled and rubbed his face. “I don’t feel so good, I should…”

“You should shoulder Winston and follow me to the auditorium. The others are probably already waiting for us;” she smiled and dragged him behind her.

“Bev…,” he pleaded. “I’m really not okay. I might throw up, the migraine…”

Beverly turned to him.

“Is made up cause you don’t do good with changes,” she said, her smile still sugar sweet. “You fucking hated Pazzi, so deal with it. It’s only going to get better now. He’s innovative and oh my God have you watched some of his youtube performances? We couldn’t have found a better match. I hate to admit it but Chilton is right about hiring him.”

Will looked at her and gave a nod, trying to ignore the nauseous feeling in his stomach while she opened the doors to the auditorium and together they went down to the space in which the other members of the orchestra were already setting up their instruments and were engaged in cheerful and excited chatter. Beverly immediately engaged into a talk to Francis who sat on her other side, while Will, as always gave Reba a worried look, and as always Budge bumped into her side.

“Mister Budge.”

Will, who had sat down and was putting Winston up, his bow already in one hand, looked up.

Without him noticing, Lecter had taken his place on the podium and was going through a folder he had brought.

“Sir?” Budge replied, the smile eager and as fake as everything about the violinist was and Will rolled his eyes.

“Slimy fucker,” Beverly hissed next to him.

“Shh,” Francis made. “You won’t want him on your bad side.”

“I don’t want him on any of my sides, he’s…”

“You have been part of the BSO for how long?” Lecter asked Budge.

“Three years next June,” Budge said with a proud grin.

Lecter nodded.

“Miss McClane, how long have you been part of the BSO?”

Reba straightened her shoulders, thinking for a second.

“Almost five years, sir,” she replied.

“Then I assumed you are aware of Miss McClane’s blindness, Mister Budge?”

Budge frowned, Beverly snorted and Will held his breath.

“I am, sir? I don’t understand where this is going?”

“If you are aware that Miss McClane is blind, explain to me why you ran right into her side and hit her instrument with your bow?”

“I…”

“Consider this a warning,” Lecter said, his eyes stern on the violinist who sat down with a deep frown between his eyes. “And this is something I would like every single one of you aware of. I have zero tolerance for bullying of any kind, if there are problems I expect those to be addressed in a responsible and mature way.” He turned his attention to the orchestra. “So, this is our first run through, and I do not consider this a rehearsal or audition. I only want to see where we stand and get a feeling for the sound.”

He announced the piece that they were going to play together and Will put Winston into position and went into his part as soon as it was demanded on him, eyes closed and becoming one with the melody in which the celli only played a secondary but not insignificant part, and when he opened his eyes and looked up, he looked right into the amber colored eyes of Lecter who was looking at him and only at him.

Will needed to take a deep breath to not freak out and collect his senses to continue to play and not follow his flight instinct that was trying to convince him to get up and run as fast as he could.

After they had finished to play what Lecter had selected for them, Will closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, feeling sweat on his forehead, while Lecter went to talk to two members of the orchestra who had questions for their new conductor, the general chatter close to overwhelming. He patted his cello and could not help smile.

“Well done, Winston. Good boy,” he whispered.

“You are weird,” Beverly laughed, pulling back her hair into a ponytail. “Never seen anyone talk to their instrument like you do.”

“He’s a living and breathing thing as far as I’m concerned,” he grinned and got up, rolling his shoulders. "I have a session with Timothy in half an hour. See you later?”

“You bet,” she grinned. “Give the cutie a hug from me.”

“Will do.”

He put Winston into his bag and left the auditorium on the direct way through one of the side entrances, glad that his escape remained unnoticed.

Or so he thought.

“Mister Graham.”

Will stopped in his movement and closed his eyes, the hand that held the strap of his cello’s bag tightening. His heart pounded in his ears.

He considered turning around and facing the man who had said his name, but that became useless when he heard steps circling him and coming to a stop in front of him.

“So I finally have a name,” Lecter said, and when Will looked up, he saw that his boss was standing close to him. “I should consider calling the police after I finally am able to identify the man who tried to kill me.”

“I am sure that if you had wanted, you would have called the cops on me anyway. Name or no name,” Will said. “If you would now let me pass, please, sir.”

He tried to move past Lecter, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

“I expect you in my office tomorrow at nine,” Lecter said. “Your position in the orchestra needs to be reviewed.”

Will’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re firing me?” He asked, as if he had not considered quitting himself. “What the fuck, Lecter?”

“Language,” Lecter said. “We talk tomorrow at nine.”

Will huffed, seeing a dark fire in Lecter’s eyes. A fire he had seen before.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, the voice annoyed. “Why don’t you just send my termination with the mail. If you excuse me now, I have an appointment.”

Lecter remained without movement while Will sidestepped him and went on with his way, but suddenly a hand was on his shoulder and while he uttered a surprised noise, he was pushed into the storage room on his left. It was Lecter who shut the door behind him and locked it.

“What the…?” Will started but was shut up by Lecter’s sensual lips crashing onto his own.

He pushed him away, hard against the shoulder and they looked at each other like two predators assessing their potential prey, and then they crashed together like being pulled towards each other by invisible strings. Will dropped Winston to the ground without care if his precious instrument suffered from the drop, his hands seeking hold and already ripping at Lecter’s white shirt that he wore underneath a black jacket, while Lecter’s, Hannibal’s, hands pulled his jacket off his shoulders and pulled the t-shirt up so he could touch Will’s smooth chest, his long fingers immediately going for his already stiff nipples, teasing and pulling on the hardened buds until Will moaned like a seasoned whore, clinging to the older and taller man like his life depended on it. His fingers grazed Hannibal’s hairy chest, remembering the feeling of the soft skin and hair under his fingertips, grinding against his thigh, needing more, wanting more.

“You’re such a cunning boy,” Hannibal whispered against his ear, making him shudder, while he pulled his t-shirt completely over his head. “Such a dirty slut.”

Will whimpered into the scorching kiss, forgetting where and who he was, forgetting who he was with. All that counted it the feeling of being alive that he had never felt this way before.

Hannibal turned him in his arms and kissed his neck, licking and biting his ear, his hot breath making Will shudder and shiver, his knees feeling already weak, every cell of his body on fire with lust and a desire he knew he could never explain.

“I have nothing here to fuck you,” Hannibal whispered into his ear and Will arched his neck back and leaned his head onto Hannibal’s shoulder, welcoming more deep kisses from the other man, feeling how the conductor pulled Will’s jeans down and exposed his round ass to the cold air in the storage room.

He expected to soon feel Hannibal’s fingers entering him but instead Hannibal took care of his own trousers and pushed them slightly down, making room for his hard cock which he pushed into Will’s crack without breaching him. The tip of his erection pushed against Will’s balls, fucking the cavity his thighs and body provided and reached around Will to take care of the younger man’s almost painful hardness, stroking him in the same rhythm he was humping him, his thumb rubbing over the leaking tip. Will gasped and moaned, ready to spill his release already, but Hannibal held suddenly the base of his cock in a tight grip and Will tried to scream but was shut up by Hannibal’s other hand over his mouth, hot breath still bathing his ear.

“Not…yet,” Hannibal whispered, his voice not much more than a moan, the accent heavier than usual, a clear sign that he was without control over his own desire for the younger man.

He pushed against Will’s body several times more, before he let go of Will’s cock and pushed another time hard against him, so that Will needed both hands against the shelve in front of him to not fall over, and came against Will’s balls before Will followed him over the edge seconds later.

He panted heavily, captured between Hannibal’s body, feeling cold sweat all over his body while Hannibal’s movements become slower and more shallow until he stepped away from him. Will heard the sound of a zipper and knew that Hannibal was putting his clothing in order and he followed to do the same, picking up his shirt and putting it on, pulling up his jeans, not caring that his own and Hannibal’s seed were sticky on his body.

“I…,” he whispered while putting on his jacket.

“Tomorrow at nine,” Hannibal said and without granting him another look left the storage room, leaving behind a very confused Will, who sank down to the floor, hot tears covering his face in shame and humiliation.


	7. Chapter 7

Will could not remember having ever been this anxious before when he sat on a hard wooden chair in front of Lecter’s office the next day. Again, he had not been able to sleep through the night, and now felt tired and panicked waiting for the death sentence regarding his position in the orchestra. Only yesterday he had considered quitting himself, and now he feared to hear those words that proclaimed him to no longer be a part of the company of men and women that had become his family over the past years.

The clock at the wall ticked slowly away and the last three minutes until the hand turned to indicate it was exactly 9 am seemed to take years.

Only a few seconds later Lecter opened the door from the inside and stepped to the side.

“Mister Graham,” he said and Will got up from his chair, his eyes only shortly looking at the older man and went past him into the office.

Several cardboard boxes were lined up at one side, indicating that Lecter had not completely moved in yet, the desk though was clean and neat.

“Take a seat,” Lecter told him and Will complied, biting his lower lip for a moment and then looked up to watch Lecter take his place at the opposite side of the desk. “Thank you for coming.”

The way Lecter pronounced and put stress on the last word made Will blush, remembering the feeling of a very different kind of coming than the one Lecter had just meant. Again he chewed on his lip and balled his left hand into a fist, fingernails digging into his palm to calm himself a little.

“I have taken a look at your personnel records,” Lecter started, pulling out a grey folder from a stack on his desk and opened it. “You have been part of the BSO for six years already?”

“Yes,” Will replied, hating that his voice was unsteady.

Lecter nodded.

“When did you start being part of the mentoring program?”

Will pushed his glasses up his nose and thought for a second.

“I’m very sure that that’s part of my record,” he could not avoid sassing to which Lecter looked at him with an expression he could not place, somewhere between amusement and annoyance. “Two years now, I’ve been in the mentoring program for two years now.”

Now, Lecter nodded and looked at a piece of paper from the file, reading for a minute and looked then back up at Will who felt more and more uneasy with each passing second.

“I don’t quite understand why the BSO still works with traditional files,” he said. “Electronic filing would be much more efficient. I see you are mentoring Timothy Clare?”

Will nodded and straightened his shoulders at the mention of Timothy’s name.

“Yes, I do,” came his confirmation. “He was one of my first students, and he is making exceptional progress. I think he dreams of becoming a professional musician, but the pressure his parents put on him is not helpful. His talent is…he’s amazing.”

Lecter smiled, seemingly pleased with Will’s excitement for his favorite student.

“I would like to witness a rehearsal,” Lecter said. “The note you applied to his mentoring files look very promising, it is always a pleasure to see a young talent grow and bloom. I might have someone who is interested in cello lessons. Would you accept a new student, though not in the scope of mentoring? Lessons for someone who is very much in love with the cello?”

Will nodded.

“I have taken students in the past, yes, before my schedule for the BSO got too overwhelming. Right now, I would accept one or two additional students, but only as far as my schedule allows it.”

“Very well. I will let them know,” Lecter said and closed the file. “When are you tutoring young Mister Clare again?”

Will blinked at the conductor.

“You’re not firing me?”

Lecter tilted the head to the side.

“Why would I fire one of the best cellists that not only this orchestra has but that I have had the pleasure to listen to in my whole professional work?” Lecter asked him, leaning a little back in his chair, amber eyes firmly on Will’s, which made him even more insecure. “No, Mister Graham, I am not firing you. I do like to think of myself as a man who can differ between his private life and his professional work.”

Will blinked again.

“I’m very much looking forward to work with you, Mister Graham,” Lecter continued and held out his hand for Will to shake.

Only reluctantly, Will took the offered hand and shook it, meeting cool and firm flesh, a strong but not too strong handshake. Lecter held eye contact and held onto his hand for seconds too long to be socially acceptable and Will swallowed, feeling the dominance of his boss and the man who he felt an unwanted attraction for.

“The cello has always been one of my favorite instruments, and I would very much appreciate if you and some of your colleagues would be interested in the possibility of a cello quartet which could result in further engagements, I’ll be announcing a scheduled rehearsal of that sort for the near future.”

Will nodded.

“That would be,” Will started, finding his mouth being dry at the continuing eye contact Lecter held. “That would be a nice opportunity.”

The smile Lecter gave him was predatory and for a moment Will thought that the conductor would pull him close and throw him onto the desk and take him there and then, and a small part of him would welcome such actions, but instead the other man let his hand go and went to the door to open it.

Will got up from his chair, his legs feeling weak like they always seemed to be in Lecter’s presence and started to leave the office, not able to fully believe that Lecter was not firing him and instead showed interest in his work.

When he had reached the door, Lecter leaned closer and appeared so smell Will.

“An atrocious fragrance,” he said. “I noticed it yesterday already, I need to introduce you to a finer aftershave.”

His warm breath was hitting Will’s ear and neck and sent a shudder down his spine, the look he gave the smiling conductor irritated and filled with a hint of fear. What was it that made him always feel like a deer in headlights in his proximity?

“I see you later at the meeting, Will,” Lecter said, for the first time using his first name, something unexpected and intimate.

Will met Beverly two hours later in front of the auditorium where Lecter had scheduled an orchestra meeting. He noticed that his best friend was all her bouncy and bubbly self, her dark eyes glinting with the usual mischief that she wore like a second skin at all times.

As soon as she saw him, she went to greet him with a hug and then hooked her arms through his, leaning close into his personal space.

“You look stressed. Again,” she said. “Still the migraine?”

Will shook his head.

“I’m just not doing well with changes,” he said. “Lecter and this meeting again. It stresses me out, can’t even say why.”

“Hmm,” Beverly said and went into the auditorium at his side.

Most of the orchestra members had arrived already and taken places on in their respective seats in the orchestra pit. Passing Francis, Beverly clapped the silent and shy cellist onto his back to which he replied with one of his rare smiles, and the pair of them sat down next to him.

“I tried to reach you this morning,” Beverly addressed Will. “I thought we could have brunch together before the meeting.”

“I was in a meeting with Lecter,” Will said and inwardly cursed to have said that without thinking.

Beverly’s eyes went wide.

“You…,” she said surprised. “You had a meeting with fucking Lecter?”

Will and Francis both winced when Beverly slapped his arm hard.

“You didn’t tell me!” Beverly said, a little too loud so that even Lecter who was just taking his place on the podium, having put a chair there and sat down, looked at her.

“He suggests a cello quartet,” Will whispered, rubbing the spot where Beverly had hit him. “I think he will that also announce today.”

“And he talked to you in advance?” Beverly asked, exchanging a look with Francis, who had raised a brow. “He likes you.”

“He doesn’t like me, he doesn’t know me,” Will hissed, noticing the beaming grin that Beverly showed. “Shut it.”

Beverly though just gave Francis a knowing look and continued to grin.

“Ladies, gentlemen,” Lecter said finally when he was halfway certain that everyone had arrived. “I only want to make a handful of announcements today.”

He waited a few seconds until the attention of the musicians had turned to him and the murmur and chattering stopped.

“First of all, I want to thank everyone who participates in the mentoring program, I won’t call out your names, but you know who you are. Mentoring new talents is something I have always found to be of the utmost importance to maintain the quality and availability of young talents. I have noticed that so far the participation of the mentoring program has been compensated in a way I find to be unsatisfactory, so I will have a meeting with Mister Chilton in the next days to find a more satisfying solution to compensate you for your time and effort,” Lecter started. “The next thing I want to address is the schedule for the rehearsals and upcoming appearances that I will provide in the next days, I expect everyone to be on time for the rehearsals, being too late or missing a rehearsal without having given notice in advance with go into your files. I do not accept unreliable behavior like my predecessor obviously did, very kind of you to join us, Mister Budge,” he said without missing a beat and not even having turned his head towards the dark skinned man who arrived too late, one of his smug grins on his face. Again, Tobias bumped into Reba’s arm and Will had to hold Francis back whose muscles immediately got tense when he witnessed Tobias’ behavior again. “Thank you very much for attending out little come together, Mister Budge. Very much appreciated.”

Beverly snorted and Lecter looked shortly at her, and for a second it looked like he gave her a wink, which surprised Will.

“Which leads me to the next topic. I will divide the orchestra into groups and assign a head of each group. These designated people will meet with me on a weekly basis, at a fixed date that will be announced by email. We will discuss the immediate future of the BSO there, as well as matters that need to be addressed.”

A hand raised behind Will and Lecter nodded into the direction.

“You mean you’ll pick like a head of violinists, of flutes, et cetera?”

“Not a head, Mister Zeller,” Lecter said. “That person will speak for you, not be your superior. That will still be only me. If you have something that should be treated with discretion, I expect you to approach me at any time. We will still have orchestra meetings and I expect every one of you to work as close together as possible. A good orchestra gains strength only when we work as a unit. But general matters will be addressed by the designated musicians that will meet with me. I sadly do not have the time to talk to ecery single one of you about suggestions for out repertoire, so if you have wishes, ideas I want you to inform your colleagues about that and they will discuss those matters with us in a closer circle. For example, Miss Katz as I know hates Verdi, so I would like to know what she does like and she will tell Mister Graham, who will be head of the cellist section, and he will have the matter discussed in the next meeting. I will send out a list with those I think the right choices for those positions in the next days.”

Will’s eyes widened slightly.

He had tried to kill the man a few months ago, and now he wanted to work that closely with him? It made no sense, except if Lecter was indeed able to separate work and private life this perfectly.

“And he does like you,” Beverly whispered next to him.

“Shut the fuck up,” he hissed, making even Francis giggle and earning a stink eye from Will, who sometimes questioned his choice in friends.

“The final matter I want to address today is the announcement of my choice for the position of concert master,” Lecter said, his long legs crossed.

Will almost rolled his eyes when Budge straightened his back, looking like he had already prepared a speech to accept his new position.

“I have had a long meeting with Mister Chilton yesterday and prior to this meeting again, and his input, the insight into your personal records and listening to some of the recordings that are available, I have made a choice and I think that most of you will agree with me when I…,” he started.

“Hardly,” Francis mumbled at Will’s side, expecting to hear the dreaded name of the arrogant violinist who made everyone’s life harder.

“…announce that Miss McClane will be the BSO’s new concert master, of course only if she does accept my proposition.”

Reba started into Lecter’s direction, mouth open, while everyone looked at her, speechless, before applause started and smiles and cheers appeared.

“Oh my God,” Beverly said out very loud. “Yes!”

Francis grinned and stood up, making his way through the rows of chairs and finally, when he had reached Reba, bowed down to press a kiss onto her cheek. She looked up, her blind eyes finding him despite not being able to see her boyfriend, and smiled.

“Really?” Reba asked him. “I mean…”

“Really,” Francis said.

Lecter had gotten up and stepped down, taking a hand of Reba’s into his. Somehow she knew who had approached her.

“I’d be very happy if you accept the position, Miss McClane,” he said. “I have heard nothing but good things about you and your play is exceptional. So, will you become our concert master.”

“I…yes. Yes, of course,” she replied, her smile beaming and happy.

“This is a scandal!”

Lecter’s attention turned to his left, where Tobias had gotten up from his chair. He looked furious, and Will had not much of doubt that he had expected to hear his name, like most of them had, but he knew not a single member of the orchestra who did not like Reba and who not hated Tobias, even though he probably was the superior violinist, which he sadly was aware of.

“Excuse me?” Lecter asked.

“This is my position!” Tobias added, his voice almost tipping over in disappointment and anger. “She’s not half as good as I am, and everyone with a musical ear knows that. You only gave her the position because she’s a cripple and because you are after her skirt.”

Lecter’s brows shot up.

“Mister Budge, I would appreciate it if you and I discuss this in private.”

“So, it’s true,” Tobias snarled.

“Mister Budge, I ask you a last time to not address such accusations in public.”

“You just want to fuck her!”

Francis straightened his back, ready to fight for his girlfriend’s honor, but Lecter made a gesture to stop him, controlling him with a wave of his hand.

“Mister Budge, even if I was inclined stronger towards the female gender than I am, I would not get between a happy and working relationship,” Lecter said. “Your accusations and your inability to hold those back only show that I made the right decision. You have no control. You are unable to lead. The concert master has to be someone who the other members of the orchestra trust, and I have not heard from any side that you are a trustworthy person.”

Will tilted the head to the side, while Beverly looked like she needed some popcorn to enjoy the show.

Budge stepped towards Lecter, and Will got ready to get up himself, thinking that he would hit the conductor, but instead the violinist tried to hit Reba and was only stopped by Francis’ reflexes.

Lecter took position in front of Reba.

“You’re fired,” he said. “Your papers will be send to you by mail. I expect you to leave the building immediately, Mister Budge. You are no longer welcome here.”

Budge stared at him.

“You…you can’t do that.”

“I think I can.”

Tobias turned and left the auditorium, but something told Will that this was not the last thing they had seen on him.

“I’m very sorry, I should have anticipated this reaction,” Lecter said to Reba.

“It’s okay,” Reba said, a little shaken but smiling. “He always was an asshole, I guess.”

Lecter smiled, while Beverly leaned closed to Will.

“I think I really like him,” she said. “Firing Budge was awesome, just what I needed.” She leaned against Will’s shoulder, who still stared at Lecter who was talking to Reba. “Maybe those rumors were not true after all, he seems like an upright person to be honest, can’t believe he would have done that. What do you think?” She asked. “Will?”

Will stared at Lecter, letting what just happened settle in his brain, when Lecter turned, having felt that someone was looking at him, and once again their eyes found each other.

Will’s blue-green eyes and Lecter’s brown ones sank into each other, like they had done this a thousand times and as if there was something. Something more. Something else.

“Oh my God,” Beverly said next to him and stopped the spell, making Will turn towards her. His friend looked surprised for a moment but then was taken over by a shit-eating grin. “Oh my God, I can’t believe it. You have fucked?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I obviously have no idea how orchestras work, bear with me ;D


	8. Chapter 8

All the changes that Lecter’s arrival in his life had caused only slowly settled down in Will’s mind. But that was not the worst thing that Will had to deal with after the orchestra meeting. For one, the other cellist already jumped him at every chance with suggestions and ideas after Lecter’s announcement that he would be speaks person for his orchestra section. But what was the bigger issue was his best friend.

Beverly had deducted only from looking at him that he and the conductor had been intimate, and while not knowing any details, which Will thanked God for, she had a very curious eye on him from now on. Not to forget the intrusive questions she dropped out of the blue that made Will blush. Bev had always been a menace to reckon with, but now she had put her claws into Will’s sex life and he knew that she would not let go of him before she knew every detail. Which resulted in him trying to avoid her at all cost.

Of course she turned to spam him with text messages constantly when she noticed that he suddenly did not show up at their usual spots anymore and even rescheduled a mentoring lesson because he knew that she had one in the next room at the same time, and only Beverly would be not upset about the way he acted but amused. To her, this was only more proof that, as she had so bluntly put it, he and Lecter had fucked. The words she used in her texts would have made a seasoned whore blush and someone who have had his share of lovers in the past like Will was definitely shocked by the pictures she seemed to paint in her head, about positions, places and intensity of him having sex with Lecter. It was bad enough that he had problems forgetting about the two occasions that he had become intimate with the conductor, and having Beverly make him imagine several other things that she considered hot were not helping, as was the fact that his best friend spent time thinking about him having sex with their boss, which he thought was really creepy. She had not yet bribed out of him when and where they did the dirty, as she called it, and he had no plans on mentioning the night months ago in New York and definitely not their last time being together in the storage closet. The things she would get out of that were not something he wanted to imagine, because then any time she saw a broom, bucket or whatever other janitor equipment she came across would prompt her to make snarky remarks about them. No. That was something he really did not need.

At the same time, it was indeed really hot to think about the things she suggested, even if they sounded like the plot for tacky porn movies. It was not hard to imagine Lecter, who he had started to call Hannibal in his raunchy and still unwelcome dreams, pushing him against a wall, plundering his mouth with kisses, or having sex with him under a shower, being manhandled by the physically stronger man and feeling his lips and hands again on his body.

He sighed while carrying Winston through the hallways of the concert hall and finally unlocked one of the doors and turned the cold light on, hating that even a simple room like this brought him several ideas of what he wanted Hannibal to do to him. The black baby grand that was in this room made him think of being taken on top of the instrument and he moaned at himself for such thoughts. What the hell was wrong with him? That man was nobody he should ever want. He was the one he wanted dead!

Trying to distract himself from all that troubled him, he had gone to one of the mentoring rooms where he was to meet the cello student that Hannibal had arranged for him to have in half an hour, and after having set Winston up, started to play, eyes closed and with the soft music filling the room, let his thoughts drift away over the image of a rainy day over soft green hills and a rough coast that he always saw in front of his inner eye while playing this melody. It soothed him and calmed his nerves, losing himself in the music that had kept him company as long as he could think back. The tip of his tongue was pressed against the inner seam of his lips, head leaned a little back, eyes remaining shut and fingers moving skillfully over strings and holding the bow, feet in only socks like he preferred when he played and feeling the vibrations of his instrument with every fiber of his being.

He forgot time and where he was, not paying attention to anything but his music, and so he was startled when he heard a small sound from his right and opened finally his eyes.

Will felt a little embarrassed when he saw a young woman, almost a girl standing there with an amused expression that she showed with a lopsided smile and a raised brow. She wore a tweed colored coat, jeans and sneakers, and held a large cello bag leaned against her side. If he had to describe her, he would use a comparison to Snowwhite with her shoulder long brown-black hair and flawless fair complexion. Her eyes were curiously directed on him and her smile honest and sweet.

“Hey,” she said and came a step closer to him, who put the bow down and looked up at her from his chair. “Are you Will Graham?”

Will nodded and put Winston carefully aside and stood up, putting on a gentle smile, offering her a hand.

“I am, and you must be my new student?”

She grinned and gave a nod.

“I am,” she said and shook his hand, her smile open and friendly. “Abigail Hobbs.”

Working with Abigail turned out to be a lot of fun and was exactly what Will had needed to forget the thoughts circling around Hannibal for a while. She was as talented as the conductor had announced, but she had no intent to become a professional musician and instead visited the local college to prepare herself for a medical training at John Hopkins. She had laughed when he told her it was a loss for the musical world to lose as talent as her to operation rooms and syringes, and had winked at him that she would give him a discount if he ever needed band aids.

They had agreed that, as far as her college schedule allowed it, they would meet on Tuesday afternoons and within the next weeks they did not miss a single appointment. While playing together or Will showing her how to improve her play with a few tricks that he had gotten to know during his career. She told him about her playing sometimes with her dad, who played the piano and the harpsichord, which surprised Will and he told her honestly that he had never heard it being played except for players on the internet. Abigail had laughed and called her dad was weird about that and even composed for the rare instrument.

Will was intrigued and impressed, not only by how educated the young and often still girly Abigail was, but also with how her eyes shone with love when she was talking about her father. A mother was never mentioned and only once she told him that she had passed when she had been a child. When she had asked about his family and he had only told her that he was from the south and his parents may have been very okay with him having become a professional cellist after having pushed his talent throughout his childhood and youth, but not had been in the slightest okay with him being gay, she had smirked to herself, a smile he could not place and explain.

A few weeks later, without further run ins with Hannibal except for work, Will and Abigail had postponed their session of a later time and met not in the afternoon but in the evening.

Abigail had gone over to play barefoot or at least with socks as well, and had more than once grinned at the colorful socks that Will tended to wear with his conservative clothing, today pink and blue striped ones.

They played together Bach’s Cello Suite No 1 in G, in an arrangement that Will had made to play it as a duet and when they finished they exchanged a pleased grin.

“That went really good,” Abigail said, putting her bow down and looking at her watch and winced. “Oh, damn, it’s this late? I have a dinner date with dad in an hour.”

Will grinned.

“I’m sure you can make it in an hour,” he said, himself getting up and putting Winston into his bag.

Abigail sighed.

“I will, yeah, but I wanted to help him cook. Ah well, another time, at least I get to eat something he made. He really missed his calling to become a chef,” she winked at Will. “You know what? Do you have plans for tonight?”

Will raised a brow.

“No,” he replied. “Why do you ask?”

She shrugged with one shoulder.

“Dad always prepared more food than anyone could ever eat, so I’m sure it’s okay if I bring a friend,” she said, smiling. “So, wanna come and have a real homemade dinner with us?”

Will thought about the offer for a moment and then said: “Actually, why not. I only have to give my neighbor a call so she takes Buster for a walk.”

Abigail whooped and pulled her phone out.

“Gotta call dad myself,” she said and waited that the call she made was answered. “Hey dad, is it okay if I bring a friend for dinner?” She laughed at something the other one said. “A friend, dad. Not that kind of friend.” She rolled her eyes at Will who chuckled. “Thank you, love you. See you in a bit.”

Will smiled back at her.

“So, it’s okay for him if I come?” He asked.

“Of course,” she replied. “Of course he immediately assumed that you could be a special friend. Fathers, I tell you.”

The cellist laughed.

“I don’t think my father ever cared,” he said. “As a fact I know he never cared. Shall we?”

She nodded and shouldered her large cello backpack while Will carried his bag with the right hand while making a call to Alana with his other and asked her to take Buster with her when she walked her dog Applesauce.

Abigail drove a nice car for such a young woman, probably sponsored by her father and Will was immediately a big fan on the heated seats.

They talked about music and found out that Will loved to listen to all kinds of music and not only classic stuff, which did surprise Abigail, who had assumed that musicians who played in a symphonic orchestra must be fans only of the music they played. At a traffic light, Will showed her a picture of Buster that he had on his phone and she admired the Jack Russel terrier and told Will that she wanted to meet him and that her dad liked dogs too.

The house they reached after half an hour was huge and Will was impressed by the building and the silver Bentley that was parked in the driveway. Everything looked well cared for and Will followed Abigail up the few steps to the front door where she was looking in her pockets for her set of keys. He knew that she was still living in a student home, refusing to be different from other students, but that her father’s house always was a refuge for her.

“Oh damn, I have forgotten my keys in the dorm,” she sighed and pressed the doorbell instead.

It took only a few moments until the door was opened and Will’s smile froze when he saw who had opened it from the inside. Wearing a white shirt with a dark waistcoat and tie, standing in the open door and staring at Will with an equally frozen smile was Hannibal Lecter.

“Abigail,” Hannibal said. “You said a friend would join us for dinner, not your teacher.”

“Well, Will’s not exactly a teacher, and he is my friend,” she said. “And by the way, great greeting, dad.”

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed for a moment, assessing Will and then stepped aside. Abigail went into the house, pressing a kiss to her father’s cheek while Will remained to stand there.

“Will?” Abigail said. “He won’t bite, I swear. Come in.”

Will’s eyes shifted for a second from Hannibal to Abigail and back to Hannibal who seemed to sigh and stepped then aside to let him pass.

He only reluctantly stepped into the large house that spoked of the wealth of it’s owner, and found the inside as tasteful as the outside.

“I’m just changing my shirt,” Abigail said and ran already upstairs. “Try not to kill each other.”

Will stared at Hannibal, feeling his mouth run dry.

“I swear I didn’t know she is your daughter,” he said, finding his voice to be shaking and more of a whisper.

“How can you not know that Abigail is my child?” Hannibal hissed back.

“Because she goes by Hobbs? Why does she go by Hobbs? Is that he mother’s name?”

Hannibal looked right into his eyes and Will found himself immediately aroused. Damn his libido. Damn his emotions.

“I think you are asking some very private questions there, Will,” Hannibal said back. “It is the name she was born with and she uses it when she doesn’t want to press home advantages because she is my daughter. I can only guess that being schooled by one of my subordinates counts as such.”

Will let out a curse.

“She’s trying to set us up,” he whispered. “Goddammit, your kid is trying to set us up. She knows I’m gay and…oh my God…she thinks that you and me could be a good match. Fuck.”

“That is ridiculous,” Hannibal said and then turned when he heard Abigail come back the stairs, having changed into a new shirt.

She smiled brightly and hooked her arm under her father’s and leaned against him, looking at Will.

“Have you had a good chat?” She asked and Will only nodded. “I know it’s awkward cause you play for dad, but you will absolutely love is food.”

Abigail winked and then went towards one of the rooms on the backside of the building, leaving the two men stand there. Hannibal stared after her for a moment, his jaw moving in suppressed anger Will was certain.

“You can leave the cello here,” he said. “Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.”

And with that he let him stand there and after a few seconds of consideration, Will followed them into the same direction and entered the dining room on which a table was already decked in for three people, decorated with a flower ornament that was gorgeous and extravagant like many small details that Will saw.

“Would you like an aperitif?” Abigail asked.

Will shook his head and sat down on the chair that Abigail pointed him to.

“Why did you not tell me that your dad is my boss?” He asked. “I feel like you withheld that information on purpose.”

“Would you have come if you had known?”

“No.”

Abigail shrugged.

“There is your reason,” she said. “Listen, Will, I really like you and I’d like to think of you as a friend, and I really have not many friends. I apologize if this is awkward for you, but I really had no ulterior motive here, except for having dinner with my dad and a friend.”

The cellist nodded and tried to avoid thinking that he was going to have dinner not only with Abigail’s dad and his boss, which was bad enough, but also with the man he had sex with and the man he tried to kill.

It really could not get more awkward.

Dinner itself was a success though.

The food Hannibal had prepared would have done every multiple star restaurant justice and Will had to admit he had never had venison that was this perfect. Not only did the dishes look like taken from a photo journal, it tasted absolutely divine and he had to stop himself from moaning several time, especially since he was feeling Hannibal’s eyes on him at times.

Abigail had tried to keep a conversation going but only when she brought up Will’s cello play and Hannibal’s plans for the orchestra that they both had been able to forget what hang between them and started a humorous and outspoken discussion that seemed to delight Abigail.

After dessert had been finished, Abigail moaned, making Will smile.

“You’re fattening me up, daddy,” she said, rubbing a hand over her flat belly. “I don’t even want to know how many calories I just had.”

“A meal should never be seen from that perspective, Abigail,” Hannibal said. “It’s about the flavor and scents, about spices and ingredients. What do you say, Will?”

He was surprised that Hannibal wanted his opinion and looked a little surprised at him.

“I…,” he started. “I can only say I never had anything like this in my life before, and I really could not care less if I gained a dew pounds because of this. I don’t know what half the things were that I just ate, and I am already addicted.” He chuckled. “My compliments, Mister Lecter.”

Hannibal nodded once, a subtle smile on the lips that Will found himself looking at again and again.

“I will probably never move again,” Abigail said. “I’ll drive you home though.”

Will laughed.

“I can call a taxi to get me home, my place is on the other side of town than yours,” he said. “Thank you very much for the dinner, it was really wonderful. Thank you very much for the invitation, Abigail.”

Abigail smiled.

“That’s sweet, do you really not mind?”

Shaking his head, Will said: “Of course not.”

“You could stay here, Abigail,” Hannibal suggested.

She sighed and shook her head.

“I can’t, dad,” she started. “I have a test tomorrow morning and I have to look up a few things tomorrow morning.”

She seemed to know that Hannibal was considering chastising her for not having learned for her test earlier, but he remained silent and only shook his head slightly.

“Okay, let’s go,” she told herself and got up. “Love you, dad, thank you for making me fat.”

“Thank you for enduring your old man’s presence,” he smiled and brought her to the front door after she had said goodbye to Will as well who followed them his phone in his hand and looking for the number of a taxi service.

When the front door slammed shut, he looked up, holding the phone to his ear.

“Yes, good evening, I need a taxi to…,” he stopped and looked at Hannibal who was standing right in front of him. “What’s the address?”

He swallowed when he saw the way Hannibal was staring at him, and then the conductor took the phone from him and ended the call on his behalf, putting it into his own pocket.

“What…,” Will started. “What are you doing? Hannibal?”

Hannibal looked into his eyes, not even acknowledging that Will had used his first name.

“Something I should not,” he said, the voice almost nothing but a whisper, and then pulled Will close and kissed him.

Without inhibition, Will returned the kiss, opening his mouth and letting Hannibal’s tongue penetrate him, tasting wine on him and feeling the welcome shudder his immediately growing arousal caused. His hands went up to Hannibal’s head and straight into his hair, moaning into the touch of the other’s lips and kissing him back like his life depended on it. Hannibal’s hands roamed over his shoulders and back, grabbed his butt and pulled him closer, flush against his own body, not leaving a doubt that both men were deeply affected by the other being so close, tasting and smelling their counterpart, licking at each other and nibbling on their lips and tongues, playful and with growing passion.

“Bed,” Will moaned between kisses.

Hannibal’s lips curled into a smile while still kissing Will.

Later, Will would not remember how they had made it upstairs and into Hannibal’s bedroom, or when they had made it out of their clothes, but he dropped onto the mattress, Hannibal immediately covering his body with his, and it felt like they had just appeared nude in the bedroom. His mind was clouded with lust and a desire that was unwelcome and still felt so, so good.

His skin felt on fire and he could not stop touching, feeling, tasting, his tongue licking over Hannibal’s neck and when Hannibal rolled onto his back, down over his chest, only stopping to pay attention to his nipples that he knew to be almost as sensitive as his own and kissed a path down the older man’s belly and rubbed his nose in the musky scent of his groin, the already hard cock pressing against his skin.

Will’s right hand went up Hannibal’s leg and over his thigh, moving over the soft skin that covered hard muscle on the inside and found his way to close his fist around the hardened shaft that he knew, just knew, would bring him unbearable pleasure. He heard Hannibal moan when he pumped his length a few times and then lowered his head to press a kiss onto the base and then blow butterfly kisses over it, and finally engulfed the leaking tip with his lips, sucking a few times only shallowly and then took him further into the heat of his mouth, his tongue pressing against the underside and against the pulsing vein. The tip hit the back of his mouth, and he only gagged slightly before he took Hannibal down his throat, feeling how Hannibal strained his muscles to not start thrusting, and let only slowly go of him again before he repeated the movement and drove Hannibal into a frenzy of lust, making him lose more and more of his usual control, until it was Hannibal’s hands that pulled Will of his cock, a trail of spit and drool dropping from Will’s lips.

Will was surprised when Hannibal pulled him back up and kissed him, uncaring that he was wet with saliva and first traces of cum, the kiss searing and consuming. They moved as one being and one body, connected with each other in a tight embrace that Hannibal broke to reach over to the nightstand and rummage through the top drawer, throwing a strip of condoms and a small silver bottle of lube onto the bed, that weirdly made Will’s heart speed up. He licked his lips and rolled to his side, watching how Hannibal got some lube on his fingers and nodded then into his direction. He got the hint and got onto his back and spread his legs and bite his lower lip when one of Hannibal’s fingers caressed his eager opening, but the little friction was far from being enough, and with a movement of his hips he tried to urge Hannibal to do something against the emptiness that became painful, and his moan was loud and close to a scream when Hannibal finally breeched him and pushed the whole length of his finger inside him, making a few trusts and then angled the finger against the spot inside Will that made the younger man scream out, his hips leaving the mattress and his back arched. Fingers cramped into the bedsheets, Will was certain he would pass out when Hannibal bent down and started to suck him skillfully while fingering him now with two of his digits, the need becoming too much.

Somehow, Hannibal seemed to have read his mind and let go of him, and his whimpering protest was muffled when Hannibal covered his lips again with his own, the kiss slow and intense, tongues licking over each other. 

Hannibal’s cock pressed against Will’s, both as hard as they could get and it took seconds before Will spread his legs as far as possible, showing Hannibal what it was he wanted, and the conductor took matters in his own hands and sat up, taking a condom from the strip, unwrapped it and covered himself up, and, after having applied lube, lined himself up and pushed agonizingly slow into Will’s tight hole.

Will stopped breathing for a moment, overwhelmed by the feeling of being filled to the limit and felt his tunnel pulsing around Hannibal, who only waited further seconds before he picked up to thrust into him. First shallow and slow, and then more and more forceful, with more and more strength. Will wrapped himself around him with arms and legs, pulling him as close as possible, their lips leaving each other only to get a breath in, and soon the loud slapping sound of their bodies meeting each other and moving together mixed with their moans and Will’s whimpers. He scratched over Hannibal’s back, certain that he left traces there, just like Hannibal knew he was leaving bruises on Will’s body where his hands held him a little too tight, but neither man could bring himself to care.

They moved together like they had done it a thousand times before, as if this was their destiny and was meant to be.

Will opened his previously shut eyes and looked up into Hannibal’s eyes that he found almost black, looking at him in a way that told him not only that Hannibal was close to his release but also that the man that was his boss was as overwhelmed with emotion as he was.

Their lips locked together again, Hannibal shutting up Will’s guttural moans and turned them back into a whimper, when his thrusts became even harder and deeper and Will knew that there was no holding back for both of them anymore. He arched his neck back, as if he was the prey submitting to the predator, offering himself and Hannibal’s right hand closed around his neck without the intent to hurt but held him in place when he pushed into him one last time and came with a groan, coming into the condom and feeling how Will came untouched on his belly.

Both men were panting and still clinging to each other, bodies covered in a sheen of sweat, their hair sticking in weird angles and every pore sensitized. Hannibal moved slowly out of Will, pulling the condom off him and dropped onto the bed next to the younger man, pulling him into his embrace.

His nose was buried in Will’s hair, a kiss was being pressed against Will’s temple and moved his fingertips in circles over his shoulder. Will’s hand was stroking his chest hair, the eyes absently staring into nothing, not knowing what to think, not knowing what to fell.

And with the thought that this felt too good, that this should not feel good at all, Will fell asleep, his head resting on Hannibal’s chest.

Will woke up to an empty bed.

It took him a few seconds to remember where he was, lying on sheets that were much softer than his own, and on a mattress that was just right between soft and firm. He felt relaxed and still certain areas of his body still throbbed in a sweet pain that made him smile. Burying his head in the pillow he moaned and sighed and then he turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling, angling a leg up and touching himself under the warming covers. He was surprised to find himself cleaned of the traces of his and Hannibal’s passionate encounter, and frowned a little.

Reaching out with one hand, he found the side of the bed on which Hannibal had slept cold and without the residual warmth of the body that had lain there.

Licking his lips, he sat up and listened into the darkness of the house and his trained ears were suddenly filled with music coming from somewhere else. He went to sit at the edge of the bed and listened for a little longer, the sounds he heard something he could not put right into words, and which he recognized to be the sound that came from a harpsichord. Abigail had mentioned Hannibal was playing this instrument, and curiosity welled up in him.

He put on his shirt that he picked up from the floor and went slowly outside, his bare feet carefully in the unknown rooms and went downstairs in the dark, finally finding Hannibal sitting in a room that must be some sort of salon, behind his instrument, playing a few notes and then stopping to write something down. He was composing.

Will watched, leaned against the door frame, how Hannibal was playing a few chords on the old fashioned but so sensual instrument, the notes and melody light as a butterfly. A smile spread across Will’s face, knowing that Hannibal had not noticed him, concentrated on the composition he was obviously working on, witnessing the musical genius that Hannibal Lecter was at a more intimate work than conducting an orchestra. He had never seen anyone composing and was intrigued not only by the process but at the way Hannibal felt at total ease working on new music, and he felt blessed honored that he was the only one who heard these notes except for the artist himself.

He admired Hannibal for his talent, admired him for how his fingers moved over the keys, finding just the right note to add to the previous one, admired the way the simple dark sweater was clinging to the body he knew by now so good. He remembered how nice it had felt when Hannibal held him and he had fallen asleep in his arms, exhausted and sated, and how confused he had felt when he had woken up to an empty bed.

A feeling of euphoria went through his body, and suddenly he started to tremble slightly at a sudden realization. Anxiety flooding his mind and clouding his vision.

What was happening?

Why was he feeling this?

He was still staring at the man who wrote something down and played the chords again, smoother, the room filled with an unheard melody that was just being born.

An impossible truth hit him like a sledge hammer.

He was staring at the man he was falling in love with, that talented, genius, gorgeous and intelligent man.

No. That could not be.

Will’s heart rate accelerated and he felt nauseous and like throwing up, his breathing becoming more labored and a feeling of panic rising in him.

This was not possible.

This was insane.

He could not fall in love with Hannibal Lecter.

He could not fall in love with a rapist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bach Cello Suite No. 1 (G) can be listened to [here](https://mads--hatter.tumblr.com/post/613697671898808320/tiger-in-the-flightdeck-blvcklolita) in a beautiful version,  
> brought to my attention by my beloved [GPT_WR](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GPT_WR) 💚 Thank you so much for the inspiration! 💚


	9. Chapter 9

“Why exactly did you drag me into this establishment?” Hannibal asked, eyeing his surroundings with clear judgment in his eyes.

He could already smell the grease he would find on counter and tables, the stale beer and he did not even want to think about the state in which the restrooms were, a thought that made him shudder. Chilton to his left though grinned and slapped his arm.

“You will like it, Hannibal,” the director of the BSO said.

“If you would just tell me why I’m here I would maybe be inclined to believe that.”

Chilton huffed.

“It’s a surprise, Hannibal,” Chilton said while taking a seat on one of two unoccupied bar stools and waved the bartender closer.

“Just tell me, Frederick,” Hannibal said, wiping a hand over the seat and then deciding it was clean enough for him to sit down as well.

“If I would it would be no surprise anymore,” Chilton laughed.

“I don’t appreciate surprises,” Hannibal gave back.

“You will like this one, I promise,” Chilton said and then ordered a beer for himself before the bartender turned towards Hannibal, expecting him to order as well.

Hannibal though raised a brow and looked at the young and handsome man who smiled at him, prompting him to return a smile.

“I have my doubts that you can get me a 2012 Brunello di Montalcino by any chance?” He asked the younger man, who grinned.

“Oh, I’m sure I can get you a lot of things,” he said, leaning a little forward so his blue eyes caught the light of the bar and sparkled at him. “I made a hard guess and say that’s some really expensive wine, huh?”

“It is an excellent wine,” Hannibal said. “The price of the things that bring us pleasure should never be a question.”

Frederick next to him chuckled, while the bartender’s eyes widened and then a grin appeared on his face.

“So, what can I get you, handsome?” He asked.

“Which lager do you have on tap?” Hannibal asked, almost hearing how Frederick rolled his eyes.

“Miller, Beck’s, Heineken, and Carlsberg, got some more if you’d prefer bottled?”

Hannibal nodded.

“Get me a bottle of Carlsberg, I assumed that it’s appropriately chilled.”

Again, the bartender grinned.

“Sure,” he said with a wink. “Gimme a second.”

The man turned and got to work, while Hannibal only shortly watched his back and then turned to look at the bar, while Frederick continued to chuckle.

“I think you have found something to occupy yourself for the evening,” he then said, getting Hannibal’s attention. “He’s flirting with you.”

Hannibal shook his head with a smile.

“I am aware,” he said. “That does not mean that I am interested.”

Frederick bumped his arm against Hannibal’s.

“You should be,” he said. “He’s a handsome fella, maybe you should go for it.”

Hannibal looked again at the bartender who was getting their drinks ready and returned a moment later with Frederick’s beer from tap and Hannibal’s glass and bottle that he opened when he served it. Hannibal only gave him a nod, while the younger man still smiled and turned to take care of other guests with a wink.

“He is,” Hannibal then agreed. “I am still not interested.”

“Hannibal,” Frederick started. “Have you dated since…”

Hannibal’s shoulders tensed, which was enough answer for Frederick.

“You should,” Frederick said. “Try to have a little fun, my friend.”

The conductor took a sip of his cold beer, licking the foam of his lips.

“Probably,” he said. “I though can assure you that not dating does not equal having no fun, Frederick.”

Chilton laughed.

“You fox,” he chuckled. “So you got yourself some…whatever it is you prefer these days?”

Hannibal rolled inwardly his eyes.

“Would you like to discuss your recent sexual activity, Frederick?”

Frederick shrugged.

“We could,” he grinned. “There is not much to discuss sadly, too much work.”

Hannibal nodded.

“So, do you have a girlfriend? Boyfriend?” Frederick inquired while Hannibal drank some more beer, getting the feeling that he needed to be as intoxicated as possible if he wanted to survive this evening without hitting Frederick.

“I think having a girlfriend or boyfriend is for younger people,” he returned.

“Whatever you want to call it,” Frederick said, amused by his friend. “Lover? Significant other? Paramour?”

Hannibal thought a moment and then pressed his lips together.

“No, there is nobody,” he then said. “I already informed you that there is no dating for me.”

Frederick put a hand onto Hannibal’s forearm that was resting on the bar counter.

“You should consider it though, Hannibal,” he said, the voice softer and less demanding than it usually was. “At least consider it.”

“I’ve never been a friend of relationships, Frederick, as you know,” Hannibal said. “I do not object to having physical relations, but I will not let anyone into mine or Abigail’s life.” He straightened his shoulders and Frederick nodded, understanding that he did not want to continue this topic.

A few minutes later, Frederick was enthusiastically flirting with two young women who had asked him about something in town, tourists obviously and flirted and laughed with them openly.

Hannibal continued to look at the people in the crowded bar. He had to admit it was a quite nice place, cleaner than he had expected and with tasteful furnishings. Nothing special though and it reminded him or the pubs that he had frequented while he had gone to university, had gotten drunk maybe one time too many, had chatted and laughed with friends that had turned out to be no friends after all.

He hoped that the people that were meeting with friends here, hugging and laughing with each other, would not be used for name, influence, money like he had been.

There was a group of young people, probably students who were sitting around a table and looked like they had already drunk too much, and still ordered more from a waitress.

At the wall that was opposite the bar, he saw few members of the orchestra standing, engaged in chatter, also laughing with each other. Zeller, Price, Dolarhyde, and McClane. Hannibal frowned. Somehow he had thought that Katz and Graham were friends with these four, and he was surprised to not see them together, but then, they were their own people and maybe had something else to do tonight.

Graham.

Will.

Part of him was glad that he had not to deal with the cellist tonight, and another part longed for him to step again in front of him with his large puppy eyes and the messy curls that always looked like he was running his hands through them. Everything about the younger man spoke to him, and it was not only his appearance. It was also his talent, his empathy, the music he was able to create with his instrument.

Hannibal sighed and took some more beer, ordering another bottle shortly after, and again the bartender flirted with him when he served him another beer. It was not hard to notice that the young man was handsome, with dark wavy hair and brilliant blue eyes, a bit of a scruff on his face.

But then Hannibal frowned.

Dark wavy hair, blue eyes.

He sighed.

Did he seriously had developed a type? The man did not look like Will, not even a little, but he had the same colors, a lopsided smile and the glint of mischief in his eyes. And still, he was not Will. He was not the man he desired without being able to explain it. It made no sense that every time he saw the cellist he did not remember the man who had tried to kill him but the man who was his perfect match sexually, like none of his many previous lovers had been before. It made no sense.

Hannibal looked into his glass and took a deep breath.

He should just forget Will. He was his boss, after all, they worked together and anything else between them was unprofessional anyway.

After the night they had spent together in his house they had avoided each other, even more than before. They had not exchanged a single word other than when they were working together.

“Oh, it starts soon,” Frederick next to him said and when Hannibal looked at him, he saw the smaller man stretch his neck, looking for something at the other side of the bar.

Hannibal looked in that direction too, following Frederick’s gaze.

Already when they had come in, he had seen that a small stage was located there, and now people were crowding in front of it, getting obviously ready for a performance. The people that made the audience seemed excited, chatter loud, a few cheers before the performers had gotten on stage. The mood in the pub shifted suddenly, and it became a concert hall, even if it was a small one.

Hannibal raised a brow and could not help but stretch his neck himself to see what was going on there, but nothing had happened other than the audience gathering in front of the stage.

“What is going on?” He asked Frederick, and when he looked at the director, he saw a beaming, somewhat proud smile on the face of the other man.

“Oh, you will love this,” he said, laughter in his voice, clapping Hannibal onto the shoulder.

Hannibal’s frown grew deeper.

“I doubt that, Frederick, I am not very inclined towards popular music, as you know, and this…,” he started, but Frederick interrupted him, nodding towards the stage.

“They start,” he said and got up to get a better view.

Hannibal could only see two people getting on stage, not much visible for him above the heads of the other audience members, and so he got up himself from his stool and being tall helped. It did not help with the surprise he felt when he recognized who had gotten on stage.

Beverly Katz and Will Graham.

Beverly grinned and spread her arms as if she wanted to hug all of the audience, while Will looked a little shy, smiled, and gave a short wave. The pretty woman was wearing a wrap dress with a wild print of flowers covering it, while Will wore a dark shirt, the top buttons open, and showing off his collarbones. Hannibal could not help to remember how it had felt to kiss that skin and shrugged that moment off, still curious what was going on on stage.

He looked inquiring at Frederick, but the director only nodded and grinned even wider.

“What is going on?” Hannibal repeated, but instead of waiting for an answer, he turned back to the stage, where the two cellists sat down on ready chairs and pulled their instruments closer and between their legs.

They were going to play the cello.

In a pub.

Hannibal continued to stare and was again surprised that the whole pub went silent when the lights were lowered a little and a golden spotlight was directed onto the two musicians who gave each other a look and a nod, silent understanding.

The arrangement they started to play was a sweet, flowing melody, something that showed off both musicians’ talent and technique, light like a bird’s wings and sensual like only the cello was. Beverly playing a light melody, Will playing a supporting line that hummed and reached the senses of the audience. Again, Hannibal was fascinated with the talent of the young man, who was able to produce emotions with such little details in his play.

Hannibal tilted the head to the side and listened to the melody, the well-played notes, that suddenly started to speed up. The two cellists had changed their purpose, Beverly now playing a strumming bassline while Will had started to play a fast melody, still absolutely flawless, but building towards something else.

The audience started to get excited. The body language of the many strangers spoke for itself, told Hannibal that many knew that something was happening, and he was curious about what was going on. He felt his heartbeat go faster in unexplainable excitement.

He saw Beverly and Will look at each other, both grinning and now playing the same melody that was insanely fast, something that no beginner would be able to play without adding a scratching sound here and there, but both their play was still smooth. Still so fast that Hannibal could even see from the distance that the first hairs on their bow’s strings were tearing.

Suddenly, while Beverly continued with the fast melody, her long hair flowing in her movement, Will started to pull long deep and little scratchy tones from his instrument. Twice, and then he raised his bow and hit the strings. Hit them again. The sound that came from the cello was something that Hannibal had not heard often and it was something that most cellists would not do to their instrument and only someone who knew exactly what they were doing would go so far.

Beverly played still her fast melody, while Will again hit twice onto the strings. Then again. Eight notes, two hits.

Hannibal raised his brows, mouth agape.

He turned to Frederick, who leaned closer with a grin.

“They are amazing,” he whisper-yelled at his friend over the music.

“That is…,” Hannibal said, blinking in surprise.

“AC/DC, yes,” Frederick said, and Hannibal nodded. While not well acquainted with hard rock or heavy metal, he still knew some tracks from the radio, he was not unworldly after all.

Hannibal shook his head and turned his attention back to his two cellists, where Will was alternating between the melody and the two hits that mimicked a drumming sound. Stared at the young man who became more and more desirable with every second, lost in his music, lost in his gift.

He listened to the song, and those that followed, more interpretations of modern music, rock and pop songs, smoothly and professionally played, impressing Hannibal even more of both the musicians’ talent.

When their concert had finished after one and a half hour of playing almost non-stop, with Beverly telling short, funny stories between sets, while Will remained silent and only reacted to words coming from his friend, they were bathed in a cascade of applause and both bowed, sweaty but with happy smiles. Hannibal too had gotten up from his chair again after having sat down again and was applauding them, while Frederick next to him was whistling.

“Did I promise too much?” Frederick asked.

“Indeed not,” Hannibal replied, still applauding.

Will was looking at the audience, looking shy and a little embarrassed at the attention, and then his eyes found Hannibal. He saw this former lover, his cellist, frown and then fully recognize who was standing there, applauding, and the smile that had been happy and beaming on his face vanished. Instead, he stared at the conductor for a moment, and then leaned towards Beverly and said something. She seemed surprised but nodded, and then he witnessed how Will put together his things and carried his cello off the stage into the backstage section.

“Excuse me,” Hannibal said to Frederick, who nodded and watched how Hannibal made himself a way through the audience and went backstage, not surprised that there was no security.

Just when he turned into a hallway, he saw the backdoor slam shut and he almost ran after whoever had left the building there, knowing who it had been, who was running away from him, but when he got out, he saw Will getting into a taxi, only looking shortly at Hannibal as if he had sensed him and then drive away.

Hannibal was looking at the lights of the car for a moment and then went back into the building. Whatever had prompted Will to run away from him, it was his choice and it told him clearly that he did not want anything to do with him anymore, just like he had left his house that morning without a goodbye.

Hannibal returned to Fredrick, who again was chatting with the two tourist girls, and found himself getting again attention from the handsome bartender.

He smiled at the young man.

Maybe Frederick was right, and a little distraction was all he needed.

Lecter.

Of all people, Lecter had to show up at the concert. Will rubbed a hand over his face, annoyed and confused.

It had been such a good evening and the appearance of Lecter, of Hannibal, in his private space was something he had not expected and that was something he was not ready to deal with, not tonight after Beverly and he had such a good time on stage. He had looked forward to drinks with friends, and also, being a little vain himself, to getting compliments for his play, and for their performance. Hannibal, he did not belong in his lie. Not like that. Not ever.

He paid the taxi and carried Winston upstairs to his apartment, getting the mail from his box on his way upstairs, and put Winston finally against a wall. He would take care of strings and other things tomorrow, sure that he would need to replace a few things after tonight, but he always took good care that his precious and beloved instrument got not seriously damaged.

He shrugged out of his jacket and sat down on his bed, going through the mail and finding overdue bills, a letter from the BSO that informed him of the annual health check that he would need to take in two weeks, a reminded of his optician that he needed his glasses checked soon again, and a letter that he had not expected.

His hands were shaking a little when he ripped the envelope open and pulled the letter out.

_My dear Will,_

_I miss you so much!_

_I'm feeling so much better already, and I hope every day that I can soon come to visit you, or maybe you can visit me soon again?_

_I’m wasting less and less thoughts about him…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, the performance of Beverly and Will is heavily inspired by 2 Cellos...
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uT3SBzmDxGk

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/RisingPhnx1
> 
> Comments are very welcome! Tell me what you think!
> 
> English is not my first language, so there will be mistakes.


End file.
